Pigs, Garlic, and Shotguns
by find-nowhere
Summary: The SVU detectives encounter their most disturbing perp yet, getting a taste of the paranormal. The Winchesters, posing as FBI agents, are after the same perp, but nothing is as it seems! Insert dramatic music here!
1. How it started

_**Disclaimer: **Blah blah blah this is fanfiction. I don't own anything, except what is mine._

**_Note: _**_I've only recently begun engaging in _Supernatural_, but I'm pretty well-versed in_ SVU. _This takes place pre-Castiel and all of the Apocalypse business, and is along the lines of a normal hunt for the Winchesters - my goal is just to keep them in character based upon my watching of the reruns on TNT in the mornings. As far as _SVU_, I suppose it can be more recent and Casey-era. I have taken a random mythical being (whose identity will not be revealed yet), and butchered and twisted the story for my own purposes, just like _Supernatural_ does! So don't criticize my facts, I know they're wrong. Also, this is very different from the Disney fanfiction I wrote in the distant past (some of which I never finished, and I apologize for that). I had to write this. I was overwhelmed by guilty pleasure and a random idea._

_**Rated M** for disturbing things, sexual themes, strong language, and probably some homo action - all of which are vital to my deep and complex plot. Don't read this if you're a sensitive pussy._

**Pigs, Garlic, and Shotguns**

A Law and Order:SVU/Supernatural Crossover of Epic Proportions

How it started…

An abnormally brisk breeze crept in through the open window. It was otherwise an average summer night in the Big Apple – no stars in the sky and the sounds of car horns below with some yelling. A young man with closely cut, dark hair, guided a rather wobbly young woman toward his bed, and began to loosen his belt as she collapsed into the blankets limply.

He figured the little pills he dropped into her drink when she got up to use the restroom would kick in soon, and she'd be out cold. She totally set herself up for this. He didn't really need to waste his pills on _this_ one, he thought, she seemed like one of those slutty drunk girls, the really easy sort. He let her finish up her drink, waved to his buddies, and then took her home, while they laughed and cheered. It wasn't the first time he has done this, since he acquired the handful of roofies from a man on the street. He had it all worked out, and was perfecting his art.

She seemed pretty incoherent and could barely keep her eyes open. She still writhed a bit and made some noises as he fiddled with her panties under her short skirt. He slipped them down to her ankles, and they tangled with the tall heels she still wore.

She has been alone at the bar. No one would notice she was missing until it was too late. He will have completed his task and left her on a secluded bench in the park. He'd tell his friends he scored with another drunk whore. He'd brag, and she wouldn't even know his real name. He'd wear and condom and he'd clean her up real good. He wasn't even a suspect in any of his other crimes. He'd done such a good job.

He looked at her. She was still moving around a bit too much for his liking. The booze had her sufficiently weak and uncoordinated though. He examined her, and she didn't quite fight him, she only squirmed, as if trying to get comfortable.

A pigeon cooed loudly outside of the open window.

The man looked toward it.

Before he could turn back to his prize, she purred, "Aren't you just _so_ manly?"

"Huh?" He muttered.

She had sat up. She reached and rubbed her hand along his jaw, "You have such strong features…"

He studied her and tilted his head, unsure of what to make of the situation. She stared at him, her bright blue eyes wide, alert. She spoke clearly. Her words were not at all slurred. She sat on the edge of his bed, kicking off her shoes and underwear onto the floor at his feet. She began to help him with his pants, slowly and deliberately.

He didn't stop her, although he was confused. He asked, "Do you feel alright?"

"Hungry…" She smiled and yanked his khakis down onto the floor. He stepped out of them and left them next to her belongings. She looked at his groin region and said, "Boxers? You struck me as a tighty-whitey sort of fellow…to better show off your huge cock."

He smirked, as she moved her hands around his piece, tracing it carefully. Before he could react, she latched onto the hem of his shirt, and with surprising strength, flung him down onto his bed. She perched on top of him, straddling his mid-section. She looked down at him with her long dark hair cascading around her face.

"What're you doing?" He asked her, but he didn't try to fight her off, although he was uncomfortable. He never liked the girl to be on top.

She blinked, "What _were_ you doing?"

He stammered, feeling a bit intoxicated himself, "I…I…"

"You weren't this shy at the bar…" She massaged his chest muscles beneath his shirt, and moved herself back further on his body. She toyed with the elastic of his boxers, and with one fluid motion reached into the flap in the front. She pulled on his cock and felt the muscles tighten immediately.

"Ow…" He winced, but didn't stop her. He grinned slightly and looked into her enchanting eyes.

She handled him and made contemplative noises, "How many times have you done this?"

"Done what?" He gasped out, trying to control himself.

"You know…" She said softly and vaguely.

He swallowed and gripped at the tousled comforter on his bed, "Fuck…"

"Yes, fucked." She stroked his painfully average cock.

"Lots…" He choked out. He normally couldn't get off like this, but this woman…there was something about her touch and her voice. She was tall, thin, with curves in appropriate locations…a perfect body, and she was already drunk when he arrived at the bar with his friends. She was a perfect target, and now his perfect and easy target was on top of him and in control. He felt conflicted and torn, aroused and disgusted all at the same time.

"More specifically," she began, "I want to know how many times you've fucked…" her voice trailed off. She moved her hands back up to his chest, and then his neck. She rested her body on top of his, and rubbed herself on him. She laughed a cold laugh that sent a chill up his spine…or maybe her touch caused it.

"What?"

Her eyes narrowed and seemed a more icy blue than they had been. "How many times have you fucked bitches that you roofied?!" She screamed and dug her nails into his shoulders, ripping his polo shirt. "How many times have you picked up girls at bars and _raped_ them, you stupid fuck?!"

He struggled and thrashed, but she somehow held him down and he couldn't overpower her. He started to panic. He felt his chest tighten and he couldn't breathe. She suddenly felt so heavy, suffocating. He looked at her, and her face seemed all distorted, blurred. He felt dizzy and terrified. What did she do to him? Did she somehow drug him when he wasn't looking? Did this cunt switch their drinks?

"Oh, I didn't mean for you to lose your hard on." She frowned, and reached down into his boxers again. This time her touch was not gentle.

She slipped her other hand around his throat, and he tried to pull at it, but he just couldn't fight her off. She tugged his dick, stretched it, tore his skin, ripped off his entire shaft with her bare hand. He bled. She held it up into the moonlight and forced his face to look at it before she dropped it next to him on his bed. She clawed at his neck and his face, severing that important artery and vein. She ripped open his chest and his belly with her claws, laughing all the while. His blood poured out, but he couldn't scream, he felt his own warm blood bubbling in his throat, and she made him watch…she made him watch as she ate the flesh of his stomach.

He tried to speak, but his words came out as only gurgles, spattering blood all around. She looked up and she grinned with blood dripping from her chin and all down her shirt. Her eyes sparked red, and she cackled before saying, "Stop making so much noise, you fucking pig, I'm trying to enjoy my meal. You weren't much of a gentleman…didn't even offer to buy me bar food. I suppose you were afraid it would sober me up, yeah? Absorb some of the booze? Mess up your whole douche-y plan?"

He choked and sputtered.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and only smeared the crimson, rather than cleaning it up. She sat up on him and watched him squirm, "You know…I've done this before too. Lots. For hundreds of years. You were an easy target. You look like a douche, who needs to control women."

With what strength he had left, he reached with one arm and tried to grab her leg. Instead he left a bloody handprint on her knee.

"This'll sober you up." She plunged his own disembodied member into his mouth and she laughed, "Eat a dick. I don't like dick, personally."


	2. One week later

One week later…

The Special Victims Unit was in a frenzy. Captain Cragen rushed around, badgering everyone for information that they didn't have, his bald head glistening with sweat. Another body was found, mutilated and eaten. This made four. Four in eight days.

"Four bodies doesn't make a serial killer!" Cragen snapped.

"Is it coincidence that they're all strung up the same with an identical MO, Cap?" Detective Fin Tutuola asked him with a baffled expression.

"We can't let the press know or even suspect that the murders are related. If we have a serial killer, the FBI will be on our asses in seconds." The Captain responded. "If anyone asks, they're unrelated."

Gold star detectives, Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler, had just returned from the scene of the latest crime in this disturbing spree. Stabler had run to refill his and his partner's coffee, and grab one for John Munch, who seemed to be dragging his feet this morning.

Olivia stood in front of the board where they had hung a map, noting each vic, their location and any facts they had that seemed relevant. She put her hands on her hips. "Maybe the CSIs will find some shard of evidence at the scene this time." She shook her head in disbelief. "Warner should have our ETD and cause for us soon…"

"We have to be missing _something_." Cragen stood by her and also looked at the map of the city.

"This is unbelievable." Elliot groaned, sitting a cup of steaming coffee in front of Munch, who sat hunched over his desk, looking worried.

He then handed a second cup to Olivia and he too stood and looked at the board, "These attacks are so spread out…not remotely centralized." He sipped his coffee apprehensively, "First vic was an NYU grad student, near campus. Second vic was found in Central Park, but was from fucking Long Island. Third was from Queens. And this guy…this guy was on fucking Staten Island…and a fire fighter."

"I think I got something!" Munch announced.

Everyone turned.

"Our latest vic…I knew his name sounded familiar, he was a suspect in the rape-homicide of a fourteen year old a few years ago. He visited her school for a fire safety talk. We couldn't get him because all of the evidence was circumstantial."

"Did any of the other vics have a rap sheet of any sort?" Elliot's brow furrowed and he took another sip of his brown liquid.

"That's what I'm looking at now."

"Do you think we've got some sorta psycho vigilante on our hands?" Fin wondered.

"When will people learn _not_ to take the law into their own hands?" The SVU attorney, ADA Casey Novak walked briskly past everyone and into her office, shutting the door behind her without another word or so much as a greeting.

"Was that directed at this case or a general comment?" Olivia wondered aloud.

"Who knows…" Her partner mumbled, "She's still the Ice Queen sometimes."

"We need to catch this guy." Cragen said before also retreating to his office.

Olivia crossed her arms and studied the board, looking for some clue, "Or girl."

"The only pattern we've got is the MO and that the vics are all men. Ages and locations are all over the place." Fin observed what everyone else had already observed.

Munch leaned back in his chair and sighed, "Nothing on the other vics."

"Maybe they weren't reported, or-"

"Liv," Elliot cut her off, "Do you _want_ this to be a psycho vigilante?"

"I just want a pattern, El."

"I just want some damn evidence that points to a real, live person instead of a ghost." Fin said from his desk.

"The second vic is who's blowing my mind," Detective Stabler started for his desk. "He died around noon, and we found him at two. How did this sick bastard have time to clean up everything? Every fucking fingerprint, every hair, every fiber, everything?"

Olivia shrugged, "This is the smartest perp, ever."

"Let's head out and talk to this guy's family, friends, neighbors, co-workers…see who saw him last, see if we can actually get something for Cragen." Elliot said then.

Benson nodded.

"I'm comin' with you." Fin said, as he put on his black leather jacket.

"I'm staying. Seeing if I can find something that connects these guys." Munch said with a sigh and bent back over his desk.

Meanwhile in a seedy hotel in Manhattan, two brothers looked over assorted newspaper articles they had spread out on the small table in their room. The older of the Winchesters began to pace and put his phone to his ear.

Sam scratched his head, "What could this thing be?"

"I don't know. I'm calling Bobby. Check the news and see if there's been a fourth murder." Dean said, still pacing, "This shit's happening every other day."

The younger brother clicked on the TV and flipped through the local channels.

"Hey, Bobby…this thing here has got to be…something. We heard on a police scanner that another body came up this morning. The cops are keeping it all under wraps and not releasing all of the details to the press…" He paused, "Yeah, the same as the other three." He paused again, "Yeah, I know it's fucked up."

Sam continued to look for breaking news of any sort. The NYPD was downplaying each attack, making them seem unconnected, and more random. The newspaper articles about the three murders were of varying length, varying details, varying importance. Bobby tipped them off after the first two murders, said he heard from an unnamed source that something was going on in New York and for the boys to check it out. A man was being brutally murdered every other day, parts of him eaten, and his own penis found down his throat. The oddest thing about the murders was the complete lack of viable evidence pointing toward anyone – or at least anyone human.

"Yeah, we're on it." Dean said into the phone and hung up. He flipped it shut and tossed it onto the bed.

"Do you think this could be some sort of succubus?" Sam asked him.

"Dunno. We need to get more information. It's time to be FBI agents, Sammy. Get dressed."

"Could it be a demon?" Sam asked as he got up.

"Dunno."

"Maybe a vengeful spirit?"

"Dunno." Dean seemed to be getting annoyed.

Sam picked up on his emotions and pulled a suit from his bag, "I need to iron this."

"Iron my shirt too. We need to figure out what this thing is, so we can kill it before…well…before tomorrow, when another poor bastard ends up its dinner."

Sam began to situate the iron and ironing board in the room, "Have you ever heard of anything like this?"

Dean sat down, rocking his chair back onto its two rear legs. He put his feet up on the table, minding the newspaper articles, "Nope. Not this specifically."

The younger Winchester tended to his housewife-like duties, and said no more. His mind racing with what this new creature might be. Why it fed on the flesh of men, and why it needed to emasculate its victims. He winced at the thought of the later part, and felt the need to casually check on his own manhood to make sure it was doing alright down there.

Dean squinted at him and said, "Don't scratch your balls and touch my clothes."

Startled, having been unaware of Dean's watching him, Sam cleared his throat awkwardly and went back to his assignment.

"Special Victims Unit."

"Huh?" Sam asked.

"That's where we're going, the Special Victims Unit. They do sex crimes, kidnapping, that stuff."

"All of the depressing shit…" Sam sighed.

"Pretty much, and the penis chopping."

Sam sighed again, "We need to get there before the real FBI does, or we're screwed."

"No kidding. Iron faster. We need to get our hands on the crime scene photos."

Fin, Elliot, and Olivia dispersed to cover more ground. The most recent victim, one Charles "Chuck" Blackburn was last seen alive at the fire station where he worked. After his shift, he headed home, but he never made it there. He didn't make it very far at all, in fact. His body was found sprawled by the side of the fire department when the sun came up the next day and the next shift came in. Everyone said he left alone, and they heard no sounds of a struggle at any point.

He hailed from Jersey, was single as far as anyone knew. He kept to himself since the accusations a few years back regarding his involvement in the rape-homicide that Munch stumbled upon. He was a big man, in shape. No one understood how he could be incapacitated as he was. It was even more baffling that at a scene with so much blood and carnage, there wasn't a single bloody footprint left by the killer.

Police tape covered the scene, and cops still milled around. The body was gone though, and they were cleaning up. Olivia ducked under the tape, flashed her badge, and asked the nearest investigator, "Find anything?"

"Not a damn thing. Didn't you just leave?" He shook his head without waiting for her response, "Weirdest shit I've ever seen. No weapon, he had no defense wounds…just…nothing. It's almost like he did this to himself somehow…"

"Liv!" Elliot called from the sidewalk. She ducked back under the tape and he continued, "Just got a call from Munch. A girl called the station saying that the first vic raped her three weeks ago."

"So…"

"We might just have a vigilante after all."

She looked around, "Got nothing here. I don't know how no one heard anything. This guy had to have been in pain."

"No kidding…" Elliot grimaced, becoming very aware of his own penis.

"There just has to be something to connect these guys."

"Yeah. I got nothing from any of the men inside. He was walking home. He lives five blocks up…always walked home."

"Well, let's canvass the neighborhood."

Elliot nodded, tucked his hands in his pockets and they began their stroll up the street.

Fin had equally terrible luck chatting up everyone around the fire station. No one heard anything, no one knew anything, no one had any remotely useful information. He felt like he was developing a permanent crease in his forehead from the frustration that this case was causing. Like any man, the thought of his own all-important member being ripped off and inserted into his own mouth, made him very uneasy. He tried not to think about it, but it was a rather important feature of these murders.

He scoured the block, talking to every person in every building. He really wanted to catch this sick bastard, even if the perp was killing perps. He imagined Chuck's last moments, in the dark, on the concrete. Warner hadn't finished her autopsy, but he knew what she'd come back with – the same thing as the other three…

Penis ripped off, neck slashed, face and chest slashed, abdomen gashed open and snacked on. Each man was still alive, bleeding out slowly while this happened, and then they were killed by asphyxiation either on their own blood or their detached penis.

Fin shivered, despite the heat emanating from his sidewalk, and being amplified by his jacket. Someone had to have seen something and he was determined to find them.


	3. Law and Disorder

Law and Disorder

Sam and Dean walked purposefully toward SVU headquarters in their freshly ironed black suits. Rounding a corner with her face pointed toward her BlackBerry was Casey Novak. She moved at a rapid speed and pummeled Dean. Her briefcase hit the ground and sat there while her phone went flying. In a display of raw athleticism, Dean tried to catch the mobile device. He fumbled it dramatically in his hand several times before getting a grip on it, as Casey stood with her mouth agape praying for it not to come crashing to the ground.

Sam bent down to pick up her briefcase. He handed it back to her as his brother stroked his silk tie and said, "Sorry about that…" He hesitated, handing her phone back, "Um?"

"Casey Novak," she nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm in a hurry. On my way to an arraignment." She started to walk between the two.

He smiled and gently grabbed her arm, "Novak? You're the SVU ADA, right?"

She nodded, and eyed him suspiciously, "Yes, and you are?"

"Agent Todd, FBI." He whipped out his wallet and allowed her to see fake badge and ID for only a second before smoothly tucking it away again with a debonair smirk.

"Oh, Christ…" she groaned, and then recovered quickly, realizing her lack of tact. "I'm sorry about that. Captain Cragen's office is right through there and to the left, I'm sure he's who you'll want to talk to." She took a moment to straighten up her slightly ruffled strawberry blonde hair, the aftermath of the collision. She forced a smile and indicated, "I really need to go."

"Hey, can I…" He called after her, but she turned her back to him and power-walked out of the building before he could even finish the rest of his sentence in his head.

Sam laughed, "I've never seen a girl want to get away from you so badly."

"Shut up," he said and then mumbled, "She's a lawyer, not a normal woman, besides she was in a hurry."

Casey thought about calling Cragen to give him a heads up that the FBI had gotten wind of the murders, but she didn't have time. She'd be calling as the two young men walked in the door, and it wouldn't be much of a warning. If she did manage to "warn" him in time, what could he do? Hide? It was a silly idea, she realized. She had mounds of paperwork on her desk, an arraignment that she was late for, and another trial later in the day. She felt rude for blowing off the agent, clearly attempting to hit on her, but she legitimately didn't have time. He'd probably still be there when she got back.

The Winchesters marched into headquarters, and went straight for the first desk, occupied by a white-haired man wearing a black on black suit and sunglasses, although he was inside. He looked like he could be a mobster almost. If only he had been wearing that hat of his.

"How can I help you gentlemen?" Munch asked.

Sam and Dean showed their badges just long enough for him to see that they displayed FBI in large letters. Dean spoke up with a smooth grin on his face. It was important to act like you knew what you were talking about when impersonating federal agents. "I'm Agent Todd and this is Agent Fox. The Bureau has gotten wind of the recent developments in your precinct."

"Oh, really?" He wasn't surprised at all and didn't seem pleased. He extended his hand bitterly, "Sergeant John Munch, nice to meet you."

"We'll need to know everything you know and talk to all of the detectives involved." Sam said to him.

"We're not here to take your cases, we're just here to help you solve it." Dean told him then.

Munch nodded, not believing him, "Right. That's exactly what the FBI does - helps. I'm the only detective here right now and Captain Cragen is in his office. The others should be back soon, and we're expecting our psychiatrist Dr. Huang in at any moment."

Dean nodded and motioned to his brother to follow toward the captain's quarters. He muttered under his breath, "A shrink. Great."

Before they reached the door, Cragen opened it. They had their badges ready and towered over the older, nearly bald man, especially Sam. He nodded, resigned to the situation. He looked sad, his shoulders slumped so much his suspenders nearly slipped off.

"Cup of coffee, fellas?" He nodded toward the jumbo coffee maker, "May as well wait for everyone to get back. Maybe they found something." He didn't seem very optimistic about the latter statement.

Dean looked at the coffee maker then back at Cragen and said, "Don't mind if I do."

"We'll go over all of the files and you can take them. You can have a seat over there," he pointed toward the clue board, "I'll start getting everything together."

The shorter of the faux-agents stirred the coffee in his paper cup with a tiny red straw. He looked around, observing his surroundings and committing everything to memory – the board, the disheveled desks, the offices, the interrogation rooms, and the fastest way to the exit if shit hit the fan. Sam stood awkwardly, while Cragen collected everything.

The three detectives came in and were immediately confronted by their boss, "Anything?"

They all shook their heads. Olivia held up a folder, "New crime scene photos, but that's it."

"Well, the FBI's here. Fox and Todd," he introduced them.

Sam nodded and Dean tried to sip his coffee through his stirring straw. He swallowed and winced, his mouth burned, "Let's see those photos. We'll need to see all of them, along with the reports from the ME, and everything else. We'll only need to take the photos and the ME's reports though."

They all grouped up near the board, and Munch sauntered over as well.

"You look familiar," Olivia eyed Dean briefly before handing the folder over.

He shrugged and shot her his most innocent smile, "Don't think we've met before, have we? I think I'd remember you."

Sam sighed quietly.

"Don't think so…" She couldn't put her finger on it, but he did seem extremely familiar, "I'm Olivia Benson."

He shook her hand, "Todd, Frank Todd."

"Have you been on TV?" She asked suddenly.

Sam piped up, knowing they had been on TV because they were wanted for murder and a number of other nefarious acts. They were, in fact, wanted by the FBI, "We…um…"

Dean took over, as usual, "Yes. We've worked a few high profile cases over the years. We're trying to keep this one quiet, Olivia. Can I call you Olivia?"

Sam rolled his eyes, and felt like everyone was looking at him now, trying to determine what exactly they knew him from. Brief introductions were exchanged and the facts were presented. Looking at the photos made Sam uncomfortable, and he started to feel particularly uncomfortable down in his private region again, but he resisted all urges to check on his jewels. It just seemed to make Dean angry, he seemed terribly insulted, but kept his cool in regard to his genitals. All of the men felt some mix of the same.

In Olivia's mind, the perp must've been a victim. She vaguely identified with the urge to rip off a man's penis on a pretty normal basis, also toying with the thought of making them choke on it. She wondered if she somehow emanated this, and if it was why everyone always thought she was a lesbian, or maybe it was that really bad haircut she got a few years before. She had a lot of bad hairstyles, dye jobs, and she also had awful eyebrows. She'd grown her hair out now, wore it up, and had the brow situation remedied, but shit if people still didn't think she was a lesbian. She liked men. She really did. But working this job sort of made her hate them. If people didn't think she was a lesbian, they thought she was sexing Elliot, which was equally ludicrous. She excused herself from the group to retrieve more coffee to get her focus back on the task at hand.

Dr. Huang entered, immediately asking if he had met the boys before, since he too was an FBI agent, but he was a dual agent at the SVU detectives didn't totally hate him. This worried the Winchesters, but Dean played it off, and eventually Huang settled his misgivings by saying, "I must've run into you in DC or somewhere before."

"I'm sure. Maybe back in 2007. Were you there then?" Dean asked, lying eloquently.

"No, I've been stationed here for a while. Did you work the McGibbons case? I was the profiler for that."

"No…" Dean made a contemplative face, playing along, while Sam stared blankly trying not to look nervous and blow their cover.

Cragen slammed his fist on the table, but said nothing. This got their attention and quieted them. Huang cleared his throat and shared the profile he'd created.

Huang swore up and down that the perp would get careless soon and make a mistake, but unfortunately, whoever it was would have to commit more murders before this happened. No one seemed open to just letting that happen, for obvious reasons. The utter lack of clues made it difficult to create a profile. Huang could only be sure that the perp was extremely meticulous, detail oriented, and hated men. No signs of forced entry into any of the homes involved indicated that this person was either someone the men knew, or someone who appeared quite harmless and was let in. He was up in the air on gender due to the strength required in the attacks, and the method of maiming.

Casey hustled from court to go back to her office to get ready to go back to court again. She pulled out her all-important BlackBerry to check her email on the move and scurried down the courthouse steps directly into the foot traffic. She turned to start up the block and experienced the same catastrophic results as earlier, crashing head on into a young woman this time.

"Jesus Christ!" She shouted, not at anyone in particular, but just in general.

Before she could bend down to pick up her briefcase and cell phone, the young woman she had run into had done so. She dusted off the briefcase with her hand before handing it back. She smiled, "I'm sorry."

"No…no…" Casey shook her head, "Cell phones and walking are just as dangerous as cell phones and driving, I think." She laughed awkwardly, and then made sure her cell phone still worked. It did and she let out a sigh of relief. The little device got dropped more often than it should, and was home to many nicks and mars.

The girl looked at the attorney and smiled, "You work in there?"

"Sort of…" Casey looked up and noticed her for the first time. She looked to be in her mid-twenties maybe, tall – taller than Casey, perfect skin, long brunette hair that fell perfectly, and the most startling blue eyes. She was totally _America's Next Top Model_ quality, and not one of the girls Tyra called "unique" that were actually ugly. Casey missed watching her guilty pleasure show. She missed television in general these days.

"Sort of?" She asked.

"I spend most of my time in my office, but I'm an attorney, yes…if that was what you were asking."

"Prosecutor or defense?" The girl seemed genuinely curious, and Casey couldn't break her gaze to avoid her questions and get on her way.

She answered, "Prosecutor."

"So you try to put the bad guys away."

Nodding, she said, "Yep. I work with Special Victims."

"Oh." The girl seemed less interested suddenly, and started to move away herself in the opposite direction Casey was heading, "I should get going. Sorry about the crash there. I'll be more observant of people messing with their phones and walking from now on."

"No, wait." Casey said suddenly and unexpectedly. She couldn't stop herself, this girl radiated a senseless air of mystery. There was something almost magical about her, but she couldn't figure out what. She was dressed casually – nothing fancy, and she carried a bag – nothing high end.

The brunette paused, "I'm meeting someone. I'd love to talk, but-"

"I'm Casey Novak." She shifted her phone to her briefcase hand and extended her arm, grasping the girl's hand firmly.

She seemed confused, "I'm…uh…Megan."

"Do you need a job?" Casey squinted, believing she had been struck with a brilliant idea. "Nothing long-term, just-"

"I…" Megan was definitely confused, and her mouth sort of hung open awkwardly. "I don't…"

"I'm really bogged down right now. I just need someone to do some fucking clerical work. No heavy labor." Casey spoke quickly, impulsively, not even realizing her spontaneous use of an expletive, "Just filing and organization stuff. I'd pay you out of my pocket. It's the least I can do for being an idiot and running into you."

"You running into me was…fine." The girl almost smiled, but remained baffled, "It was almost pleasant, but I really need to go…" She motioned into the distance.

"Look…hold on…" Casey was in a hurry too, but she felt so freakishly compelled that she couldn't stop. She tucked her phone into her pants, and propped her briefcase on her leg. She opened it just enough to reach inside. She felt around, and pulled out a business card, "Here. Take this." She handed it to her, and she took, still looking like a deer in headlights. "If you change you mind, it would be really helpful if you could come in tomorrow. I know it's Saturday, but…I just need to get this stuff done, and an extra pair of hands would be…really amazing." Casey seemed almost frantic, desperate. "And just…I need to go." She realized how strange she was being, closed her mouth and her briefcase, and went on her way. She practically ran down the bustling sidewalk.

Megan stood where she left her, holding onto the card, and turning it over in her fingers. She watched the eccentric attorney walk away then looked at the card. Her expression faded from confusion to one that was blank. After a few moments, she sighed, and smiled before continuing on her way. She kept looking at the card, mulling over the offer. It seemed like a potentially awful idea, but the flustered lawyer really seemed stressed out…


	4. Conspiracies

Conspiracies

Casey went straight to her office upon her return - without a word this time. Only Olivia noticed, but she said nothing, knowing the woman was busy, and soon to be busier when they caught the penis-mauling murderer. She and Elliot prepared to venture out to speak with the rape victim of the first victim, whom Munch had spoken with on the phone. The girl might turn out to be a viable suspect if they were lucky.

Sam and Dean had zero interest in speaking to anyone else at present, seeing the extensive job that the SVU detectives had done. Dean made Sam grab all of the medical reports and crime scene photos, planning to take them back to their hotel and study them for clues to the creature committing the crimes.

"Hopefully we'll catch this thing by tomorrow before another poor man loses his junk," he tried to make chitchat with Olivia.

She rummaged around her desk to collect her keys, which somehow ended up underneath everything like keys do. "I sort of sympathize with this person. I mean, they were clearly a victim."

"Never sympathize with someone who-"

She looked at him and interrupted his statement with laughter. She didn't speak to him harshly, but said, "You're just upset because you're a man and penises are getting chopped off."

"The loss of a penis is not funny. It's a very important part of my anatomy."

"I'm sure it is." She chuckled again.

"Can we stop talking about losing penises?" Elliot groaned.

"It's sort of an important part of the case." She shrugged, nonchalantly.

"I'm with Elliot," Fin said from his desk, "Let's not mention it for a while. My penis is gettin' a bit depressed."

"Thanks for the mental picture, Fin," Munch added. "Although I don't like to think about my dick being ripped off either."

"Men." Olivia started out.

Dean called after her, "I'll see you tomorrow."

She waved over her shoulder, but didn't turn.

Elliot shook his head, "If we don't catch this dude, my dick is gonna shrink up and hide." With a shiver he headed out and bade farewell to everyone, "Wish us luck."

Sam approached Dean with the mound of papers, "I've got everything." He was under the impression that they wouldn't be seeing any of these detectives again. They were taking what they needed and leaving, killing the monster and going on their way, "Ready to head out, Agent Todd?"

"I suppose so, Agent Fox." Dean had other plans this time.

"Where are you two goin'?" Fin asked as they passed his desk.

"Heading back to our hotel to take a look at this stuff." Sam nodded to the bundle in his arms.

"Why don't you do that here? We can combine our man brains and shit."

Dean shook his head, "We need to go over some things with our superiors. We'll be back in the morning. First thing. If we figure anything out, we'll let you know."

"Whatever." He shrugged and let out a huge, exasperated sigh, "How do we contact you if _we_ find something out?"

Before either could answer, Munch too asked, "I thought you were going _help_ and not just take over our case?"

"No offense, gentlemen, but it's turned out to be a bit different than we anticipated. We're still going to help, but first we need some alone time with the materials here." He nodded to Sam.

Both of the detectives shrugged, knowing they couldn't win against the FBI, no matter how nonsensical anything they said was.

The brothers left. In truth, they didn't think the SVU detectives would be finding anything more that would help them.

"That was weird," said Fin to his partner.

"Yeah. They were weird. Not like the FBI." Munch answered.

"You think they were fakin'?"

"I think they might be CIA. You know how the FBI fucks with us? The CIA fucks with the FBI."

"Why would the fuckin' CIA pretend to be FBI? Why didn't they just roll up in here and say they were CIA?" Fin often thought his partner was full of shit, but it was endearing.

Munch rubbed his chin, contemplatively, "Maybe…our killer is, something more than just a normal killer. They don't want to create panic."

"What the fuck, John? You thinkin' it's an alien or some shit." He laughed riotously, "A fuckin' man-eatin', dick-rippin' alien?" His laughter echoed through the room.

Munch shrugged, "I just think there's unexplainable shit out there."

"You would, since you look like one of the God damn Men in Black."

"Not to intrude…" The soft-spoken Asian psychiatrist interjected, "I don't think they're FBI either."

"What do you think, Huang?" Fin asked, calming down.

"Well…they didn't seem like FBI agents, but I don't know why they would fake it to get involved in this case, or how they would know anything about the details. Maybe they are CIA…you don't really question the CIA."

"You said they looked familiar…" Munch reminded him.

"They do. I know I've seen their faces somewhere, but I can't for the life of me figure it out."

"Well…let's get worried if they don't come back tomorrow." Fin commented.

"Tomorrow is Saturday. I hate working on Saturdays." Munch grumbled.

"There's that Jew in you comin' out again."

Huang shook his head and left the two alone to continue their banter. Sometimes he wondered how any work got done around this place. He headed back to the board and looked at it. One more victim would really help, but he didn't want to wish that horrible fate on anyone, and he too felt his cock withdraw a little. Even if the vics turned out to all be perps themselves, he felt some sympathy for their penises. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking and gave his a light pat through the front of his slacks.

Elliot and Olivia trekked into a dorm at NYU, looking for a sophomore named Isobel. They found a rather average-looking blonde in her room, studying. They didn't want to create too much of a scene in the residence hall, or attract attention to her. They closed her door and pulled up chairs.

She sat on her bed and said to them, ashamed, "It happened, like, three weeks ago…I…I didn't report it because…I…I had been out with my fake ID, and I had gotten, like…pretty wasted…"

"We're not here to bust you for underage drinking." Elliot reassured her.

"And then, like, I didn't really know what happened. I had been with my friends and then this guy at the bar kept buying me drinks, and everyone said to go talk to him…" She spoke quietly, and didn't seem to want to go on. She looked down and began to wring her hands together apprehensively.

"Then what?" Olivia pressed her for more.

"He said he'd, like, give me a ride back here, and then, like, it all got blurry. I woke up a few blocks away in an alley the next morning. I know he raped me…he…he…kept my underwear."

Olivia nodded, "Do you think he could've slipped something into your drink?"

"I dunno…maybe. Everyone always told me, like, not to leave a drink unattended, and I didn't…I waited until I finished a drink to go to the bathroom, but-but…" She began to stutter, "He bought me a drink and it was, like, waiting for me when I came back once. I feel so stupid…"

Elliot waited for a moment and then removed a photo of the first victim, "And this is him?"

She nodded and tears started to well up in her eyes, "I'm, like, ninety-nine percent sure. I recognized him because they, like, put his picture in the school paper after he was killed…and…he told me his name was, like, Jason, but it was Scott…" She wiped her eyes quickly, "He didn't even tell me his real name…"

"It's ok, Isobel," Olivia comforted her.

"I'm glad he's dead." She said suddenly and severely.

"Where were you last Thursday night?" Elliot asked her being as gentle as possible.

"Here. Studying. I had a test last Friday. You can, like, ask my roommate." She didn't seem to make the connection that she needed an alibi.

The two collected the roommate's info and thanked Isobel for her help. They stepped back into the hallway. Olivia closed the door behind them quietly, "Sounds like he targeted her, which means he's probably a repeat offender, just no one else came forward."

Elliot sighed, and spoke in a hushed tone, "Or they did, and he just didn't get caught. We need to get pictures of all of the vics out there, without anyone connecting their deaths, to see if any other women come forward…then we'll have a pattern."

"Also…maybe we should open up some unsolved rape cases, see if anything matches his MO."

He nodded, and pulled out his phone as they walked down the hallway, "I'll get Munch on it right now."

"Yeah…how would our killer know about unreported rapes and target the rapists though?" She spoke in a similar whisper.

"I have no idea, unless they have access to unsolved cases and they go from there. This just keeps getting weirder."

"Are we really going back tomorrow?" Sam asked, concerned, "I think being there is really pushing our luck since Huang is actually a legitimate FBI agent."

"Huang?" Dean was studying the photos.

"The shrink."

"Oh, him."

"What if someone recognizes us?" He took off his jacket, hung it up, and begun to undress the rest of the way.

"They like us, it's cool."

"But-"

"No buts, Sammy. Come look at this…"

Sam loosened his tie and walked over to the table to look over his older brother's shoulder.

Dean had organized the photos of the wounds where the monster in question had been snacking on the men, and he had out all of the ME's reports. He tapped his finger on each picture and said, "The same part of each body was eaten. The guy's guts are all tossed around and tugged on, probably to torture him, but no internal organs were ingested…only the flank area, the abdominal muscles."

"So?"

"If we're thinking beef, it's the tough stuff, the London Broil…if we're thinking pork…well…it's the bacon, which everyone knows is the best part of the pig."

Sam blinked. He couldn't think about food while looking at these pictures. He swallowed hard, "Ok?"

Dean continued and made Sam's stomach turn, "This really makes me want some bacon…"

"How can you say that?!" He was taken aback.

"I haven't eaten all day, Sam." He sighed and rubbed his own bacon region. "Anyway…if you look closely at the teeth marks, they look human, but…no knives or other instruments appear to have been used, all of the tears are jagged and the skin is stretched – teeth, bare hands, and…claws."

"Or really sharp nails."

Dean nodded, "Or really sharp nails."

"So it's not a werewolf," Sam concluded on his own, "What are we looking for?"

"Could be some sort of succubus, considering the sexual nature of the crimes. I'm really just not sure what the fuck it is. We'll call Bobby and see if he's heard of anything like this happening before, and I…I'm gonna hit the library with the big ass lion statues in front of it and grab a bite to eat. Wanna come?"

"Yeah. Let me change out of these clothes." He scurried into the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way down in the process.

"Sounds like a plan. Pick up the pace. We need to figure out what we're hunting, how to kill it, and we need to kill it before tomorrow, and then…"

"And then what?" He asked, poking his head around the corner.

"And then I would like to take Olivia to dinner before we disappear."

"Seriously?" He asked him in disbelief.

"She's a fucking cougar." He followed this up with a growl.

"I thought she was a lesbian." Sam commented.

Dean huffed, "No way. She's just a serious older woman."

"What about the lawyer?" Sam's voice was muffled through the wall.

"What about her? You should see if the shrink's single and ask him out. He seems a little homo." He snickered.

"Shut up. You seem homo."

"No, _you_ seem homo, pretty boy."

"You make us look like a gay couple."

"Whatever you say, Sammy. I'm so fucking manly, you can't stand it."

"I'm manly. I'm taller than you. You're short."

Dean waited by the door, jingling the Impala keys impatiently, "Height doesn't make you manly."

"What makes you so manly exactly?"

"I don't cry all the time, for one."

"Shut up. Let's go." Sam walked out dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, "Maybe I'll ask the lawyer out. She clearly had no interest in you. She probably likes sensitive men with fucking feelings."

"You do that. I bet you a twenty, she turns you down."

"You're on."

The boys shook on it quickly and headed out.


	5. Things are discovered

_**Note: **The next chapter is going to be way more exciting, I promise._

Things are discovered…

"I found two other cases of rape…" Munch sighed as he talked to his partner, "They were sort of put on the back-burner because the responding officers didn't think they were valid. Drunk girls go out, don't remember what happened and wake up somewhere random with their panties missing. Both girls showered, they gave two different names for their rapist, one couldn't even give a description…"

"We did find ladies' underwear at the vic's house…" Fin sighed too, "Thought he was one of those weirdos who likes to wear panties sometimes…"

"So we've got out first vic and last vic being potential perps themselves. What about two and three?" Cragen asked, walking up to their desks.

Munch spoke first, "Second vic was found in Central Park, but was from Long Island…I'm looking into him right now."

"I'm on the third guy…he was found in his garage in Queens."

Cragen nodded, and both men shuffled papers and looked at computer screens. As he headed back to his office, the phone rang.

"Got it…" Munch said and picked up the receiver. "Special Victims Unit, Sergeant Munch speaking." There was a period of silence, before he said, "I see." Then he scribbled down information on his note pad. "What'd she look like?" He took down more notes before saying, "Thanks a lot. It's better late than never." He hung up.

"What was that?" Fin asked him.

"Well…the first vic, he had been out with three friends of his. We talked to all of them, and they said he went home alone. One of them just called and said they lied and he actually took a girl home from the bar. They didn't know her name, but she was a tall brunette. He described her as "super hot," but couldn't remember much else."

"Why'd they lie?"

He shrugged.

"Well, I'll go talk to that bartender. See if anyone knows her name." He stood up and put on his jacket, preparing to follow the small lead. "Wanna take over this stuff?" He indicated toward the file on the third vic.

"Yep."

As Fin made his way toward the door, Casey also ventured out of her office and went in the same direction.

"Casey," he said, merely greeting her.

"Please tell me you don't need a search warrant." She groaned.

"No. We don't have any suspects."

"Good." Fin eyed her and looked a little taken aback. She stopped and said, "I didn't mean it like that."

"You need to get some rest, Casey." He opened the door and held it for her.

She nodded and ventured out, briefcase and phone in hand.

Sam and Dean grabbed some burgers and pie from a café a few blocks away then headed for the library in the black Impala. Sam called Bobby.

"Hey," he said into his cell phone, "We found out that this thing has human teeth and uses no weapons, just its bare hands. It has sharp claws or nails or something." Silence, then he continued, "Yeah. It eats the same part of each guy, just the abdominal muscle area, not the intestines or anything like that."

"People bacon!" Dean tried to say loud enough for Bobby to hear through the phone.

"Yeah, that was Dean," Sam said. "You heard of anything like this?" He paused for a while before saying, "Oh…ok. I'll tell him." Another pause, "Yeah, we're going to the library now, and we'll do that. Thanks, Bobby."

"Tell me what?" Dean asked, as his brother hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

"He said he's heard of something sort of like this…said the killings usually aren't as concentrated."

"So what is it?"

"He said it's probably some sort of witch."

"A witch?" Dean asked, pulling to the curb to park.

"Yeah…I don't know. He said he was going to do some research too."

The brothers got out of the car and Dean dropped some change in the meter. They headed up the numerous steps to the massive library.

After milling around and searching for a bit they pulled a stack of books on witchcraft, but they found very little on cannibalism.

"I don't think it's a witch," Dean said, "Are you sure Bobby said witch? Maybe he said bitch."

"He said witch."

"Are you sure he didn't say it was a bitch?" Dean asked again, rephrasing as if he would get a different response.

"He said witch," Sam repeated.

Dean sat quietly for a bit, "Wait a minute…"

"Huh?"

"Think about fairy tales. Hansel and Gretel – that was a witch that wanted to eat them, right?"

"Yeah, she ate kids."

"And that bitch…Bathory, didn't she want to bathe in the blood of virgins or something?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah. She thought it would keep her young."

"Those witches aren't like modern witches."

"True."

"So let's look up old bitch-I mean…witches."

The Winchesters rummages around in the bookstacks again and re-converged at their table away from everyone else. They flipped through the pages of many tomes, reading and looking at pictures, then reading more.

"Eating people keeps you young and can make you immortal," Dean said finally.

"I'm getting that too," Sam agreed, "But the body parts and types of people needing to be eaten are really inconsistent."

"Kids, virgins, peoples' hearts…nothing particularly about people bacon though."

"Me neither."

Dean rubbed his chin, "So…we_ are_ hunting a witch. We know how to kill witches. Now we just have to find her."

Closing a book, Sam said, "Maybe we should sort of team up with the detectives. We could figure out her pattern and her next target and then be ready for her."

"This city _is_ a big ass place." He pondered, "They don't seem to be making much progress though…"

"That's true." Just then, Sam's phone began to vibrate wildly, making a drilling noise on the chair. He pulled it out and said, "It's Bobby," then answered as quietly as he could, trying to be respectful of that big universal library rule, "I'll call you back in a second. We're in the library still."

"Let's go." Dean got up.

Upon getting back out to the car, Sam called Bobby back and put him on speaker.

After a few rings, the older man picked up and began talking immediately, "I'm pretty sure you're dealing with a witch, boys. Not your average run of the mill witch who has to cast spells and have her magical shit together…this sounds like an old witch – a fucking powerful as hell fucking hardcore sorceress, who has to eat human meat to stay young and beautiful."

"We figured that much out from the library," Dean said, "We're just not sure how to find her."

"Well, she probably goes decades without bothering anyone, but now the bitch got hungry and has come out of the woodwork to feed. It'll make her easier to catch since she's at least staying in the city."

"It's a huge city, Bobby," Sam commented.

"Yes, I know, but normally these witches, they stretch their killings out over hundreds of miles, going down highways from state to state so not to be caught. You need to figure out what she likes to eat."

"Man bacon," said Dean with wide eyes.

"She's not just eating them though, Dean. This woman is mutilating them, which reminds me very much of a witch I was after about twenty-five years ago…"

"How'd you catch her?" Asked Sam.

Bobby confessed via phone, "I didn't, the bitch got away. She got her fill and disappeared again." He sighed and went on, "Are the men she's killing maybe…bad dudes?"

"Hmm…" Dean grunted, "The last guy was a suspect in a rape, and some girl claimed the first guy raped her…one of the detectives working the case is convinced that the killer was abused."

"Shit, I think you boys are after my witch."

"We don't know about the other victims though, maybe the last one was just coincidence, and the first one just an off the wall accusation." Sam contributed, rationally.

"Looks like we'll have to go back," Dean laughed a bit under his breath.

"Listen, boys…" Bobby seemed solemn, "If it turns out that all of these men are rapists and shit, you let me know. I hate that damn city, but I'll get on a plane and I'll be there."

Dean said, "You got it."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, but sort of half-heartedly.

"So Bobby, are we looking for a hot girl?" Dean asked him.

"Highly likely. I never even got close enough to see the witch I was hunting. She was always one step ahead. These old witches are smart and excellent survivors, which is why they're old."

"We don't have much time before she gets her next victim…" Sam reminded them both.

Fin took a seat at the bar and sat his badge in front of him. Soon a bartender came over and asked, "Can I help you?"

"You workin' last Thursday night?" He asked sternly.

The scrawny man shook his head, "Nah, Bert was." He nodded to the other bartender working, "Want me to get him?"

"That'd be good."

Bert, a more filled out fellow with beady eyes came over, "What can I help you with?"

"I need to ask you some questions about last Thursday night."

"Oh, when that kid was killed."

"Yeah, you remember him?"

He nodded, "Sure do. He came over here and sat at the bar with a girl. He bought her some drinks and they left together."

"Tell me about the girl. You know her name or anything?"

Bert wiped his hands on the rag he'd been using to wipe down the bar top, "No, I'd never seen her before, and haven't seen her since. She was wearing a slinky red dress, I remember that for sure – real short, low-cut. She had dark hair, but light eyes. She looked almost exotic, but not…you know…foreign."

"Know how old she was?"

"I think she was twenty-five. She had an Arizona ID, or something like that…one of those western states. Maybe Nevada."

"You talk to her at all?"

"Yeah, she was here for a while before that guy came in and sat with her. I made some small talk. She was real nice - polite, well-mannered, seemed smart, which is weird, you know, for girls that look like her."

Fin jotted notes down and nodded, "She say anything about where she was staying?"

Bert thought for a moment, "She was visiting. I think she said she was here for the food, or something, which I thought was weird cus she didn't seem like an eater."

"Alright." He reached in his jacket and pulled out a card, "You call me if she comes back in here."

"You got it." Bert said.

Fin left. The girl was here for the food. Could that mean she was here to try the man-meat? Or did she mean the New York style pizza?


	6. Where the garlic comes in

Where the garlic comes in…

Fin headed home shortly after he got back from the bar where unfortunate vic number one was last seen. He said he'd be back first thing in the morning, which usually meant around seven. Munch stayed around for another hour or so then he too, went home for the night. Benson and Stabler stayed to work with Cragen on how to most smoothly get the other vic's pictures in the papers the next day.

"Go home, Captain," Elliot insisted to the older man after some time.

After pressure from both detectives, he agreed, "I need to send some memos."

"You best be gone in half an hour," Olivia patronized him.

He nodded and scrambled back into his office.

Sam and Dean had walked in unnoticed, and Dean said, "So…"

Elliot and Olivia both jumped, startled.

"If it turns out that the other two also might be rapists, how are we going to predict who the next victim is?" He asked them, "Do you have a list of might be rapists somewhere?"

"Yeah...we do actually." Elliot responded sarcastically and started another pot of coffee. "Our killer seems to know more than we do."

"Here's what else we found today," Olivia said, handing the paperwork to the taller pretend-FBI agent.

He skimmed through it and muttered, "Hot girl."

Dean's ears perked, "Where?"

Sam shook the papers and pointed, "Here. The first victim left the bar with a hot girl."

"That's promising…"

"Why?" Olivia asked.

Dean took a seat on the edge of her desk and said, "Well…after reviewing the evidence and making a conference call, we concluded that the killer is probably a hot girl."

She scoffed, "Right."

It was pretty close to true.

"Coffee, fellas?" Elliot asked.

"Yes, please." Dean answered quickly.

Sam also said, "Yes."

"We need to figure out how this _hot girl_ is selecting victims…" Olivia took a deep breath.

"Or we can let her kill again and hope she leaves us some sort of clue…" Sam suggested.

"We can't let him _or_ her kill again. We can't. For the love of our dicks." Elliot said as the coffee percolated.

"Even if the victims are rapists?" Olivia questioned.

The male detective seemed a little conflicted, "It's overkill what this perp is doing…"

Sam shifted around uncomfortably, thinking about the attacks. His phone rang again. He glanced at it and said, "Excuse me."

Moving away from the group he noticed a corkboard on the wall, which was home to several wanted posters. His eyes were drawn to a particular one, and he said to himself, "Oh, fuck…"

Bobby was calling.

He moved toward the board and glanced over his shoulder before quietly ripping down the sheet of paper bearing his and his brother's likenesses. He crumbled it and dropped it in a nearby trashcan nonchalantly and took the call, "Hey, Bobby, what's up?"

He listened and heard only shuffling sounds in the background.

"Bobby?" He asked into the phone a bit louder.

He heard a sound like a beer bottle being opened and then some more background noise.

"Bobby, are you ok?" He said a little louder.

The only response he received was more noise, a sound like a chair being pulled out from under a table.

He'd been pocket-dialed. He hung up and went back to the group, looking around for more wanted posters as he journeyed.

Dean looked at him, expecting something.

"Pocket-dial…" He said.

"Really? What'd you hear in the background?"

"Sounded like he opened a beer and sat down."

"That's what I'd like to do…" Dean said wishfully.

"You're sitting." Olivia pointed out.

After an awkward pause, Dean looked down at where he, indeed, sat. He said, "So I am, but I am distinctly lacking in beer."

"Pete's is right up the block. We go there a lot." Olivia told him.

"Well, let's go." He stood.

She eyed him sternly, "I don't drink until I solve a case."

"Me neither." He sat back down.

"Yeah…so I'm gonna go sit over here now…" Sam said, annoyed and sat down at Fin's desk.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Elliot advised him, "He's a pretty particular guy. He'll be able to tell that someone else's ass was in his chair." He poured four cups of coffee, and with his big hands, carried two in each. He dropped one in front of Sam, then handed one to Dean and one to Olivia, "I don't think we're going to find anything else tonight, honestly…"

"We should re-interview everyone that saw all of the victims last, see if they saw them with the same _hot girl_, and we might have a suspect…finally." Olivia suggested, considering Dean's assertion.

"This is true," Elliot sipped his coffee, "But not right now. It's fucking nine o'clock, Liv."

She looked down at her watch, and sighed, "Right…in the morning then."

Casey exited her office, trying to be quiet and not attract any attention to herself. She slipped out of the door, and closed it behind her as quietly as she could, but the latch clicked, and in the silence, everyone turned.

She froze, as if no one would see her if she didn't move. Perhaps she would blend in with her door.

"Casey," Elliot nodded to her and continued to drink his coffee in a manly way, standing with one hand in his pocket.

"I didn't even know you were here," observed Olivia.

"Yeah…" The red-head confessed, "I have a lot of work to do for next week." She walked past the detectives and the two fake FBI agents. She acknowledged Dean, awkwardly and as casually as she could, "Hello."

He raised his eyebrows to her, and Sam immediately jumped in to conversation, "Ms. Novak, hi."

"Hi…" She seemed confused, reluctant to speak, more wanting to leave than anything else.

"Can I…uh…call you Casey?"

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, "No, I'd prefer you call me ADA Novak."

Dean stifled a laugh as she walked out, and he burst into riotous laughter after he was sure she was out of earshot. Sam stared longingly at the doors, and Dean didn't remotely let up as he nearly rolled over laughing.

Elliot and Olivia looked at one another and exchanged quizzical glances.

"Something we should know?" Detective Stabler asked.

Clearing his throat, Dean straightened out his tie, "My partner, and I here, well, we made a small wager."

"About Casey?" Olivia laughed now.

Elliot joined in, "What exactly was this wager?"

"Well…" Dean began.

Sam cut him off before her count continue, "ADA Novak blew…_Agent Todd_…off earlier today, so we merely made a bet that she would go out with me instead."

"Shut up…_Agent Fox_. She blew you off just now."

Olivia responded with, "I could've told you that was a horrible bet. You two have an interesting relationship though."

"Like brothers…" Elliot observed, "How long have you been partners?"

"Or lovers." Olivia laughed loudly and leaned back in her chair before either could answer her partner's question.

Sam and Dean then exchanged glances.

"Listen," Dean began, "Now listen, detectives…"

Elliot mocked him in a high-pitched voice, "Listen, FBI agents…"

"Are we going to attempt to work on solving these murders?" Sam shouted over the continuing laughter, "Or are we going to sit around and wait for another man's dick to be ripped off?"

"He has a lot of feelings," Dean leaned over and said to Olivia, as if defending Sam somehow with this statement.

Casey trekked back into SVU headquarters promptly at quarter after seven in the morning, the next day, Saturday. True to form, she wielded her briefcase and BlackBerry. Cragen was in. He came in at seven, to check messages and see if anything developed during the night – nothing notable. Elliot was sleeping in the back. He had gone out with the mysterious FBI agents and spent the night bullshitting like men over beers. Olivia left after a drink and went home, bored by all of the dick-talk.

"Good morning," Casey poked her head into Cragen's office.

"Morning, Casey," he said without looking up.

"Anything new with the cannibalistic dick-ripper?"

He ran his hand over his smooth and shining head, "Nope."

She sighed, "Sorry…let me know if you need me."

"I will, Case."

She ventured to her office, opened the door and sat down in her fancy rolling desk chair. She looked at all of the different piles of paperwork and felt overwhelmed. She took a deep breath and tried to figure out where to begin. She kept trying to focus on the trial on Monday and _then_ organize everything else for the rest of the week. She'd come in on Sunday if she had to. She didn't know how she got so bogged down. Was it an influx of rape or something?

She picked her briefcase up from the floor and plopped it onto her desk in front of her. She opened it carefully and slowly, as if something might jump out at her – some sort of boogeyman or a fucking goblin or something.

There was a light knock on the door and then it opened slowly.

"Hey…" The tall brunette stepped in, "Casey?"

"Hi!" She exclaimed, "You're here early."

The girl shut the door. She wore what looked like a cocktail dress – a bit inappropriate for SVU headquarters, but it would have to do, "Yeah…I…I thought I'd be here before you, but…"

"I never really leave. I went home to sleep and drink my own coffee." Casey forced a smile.

"So what do you need me to do?" And then she actually stopped looking at Casey and looked around, "Oh."

Casey exhaled deeply, "First, I need _another_ cup of coffee."

"Where is-" Megan started.

"Straight out the door and to the right. Captain Cragen probably started a pot a while back, so just pour me a cup…" Her voice trailed off and she opened a drawer, pulling out one of her personal coffee cups rather than using the paper ones that there was a constant supply of, "In this."

Megan took the mug and looked at it. She smiled. It had a picture of a really ugly gray cat on it. "What is this?"

"It's the cat I had as a kid."

She pursed her lips to prevent another smile from forming, "You had this ugly ass cat put on a coffee mug?"

Casey tried to maintain her composure. Her emotions lay somewhere between being offended and laughing herself, "It's a Persian. Now just go get me a cup of coffee."

"Ugliest Persian, I've ever seen…"

"Coffee." She said firmly.

She smiled with a slight shrug then exited the room.

Casey smiled and shook her head. Admittedly, it was an ugly cat. Sometimes she tried to blame it on the quality of the lithograph, but when it came down to it, Smokeybear was an ugly cat, and with an awful name too. The long dead feline couldn't help either of those things.

"Who are you?" Cragen asked from behind her, as he too came out of his office for a coffee refill.

Megan turned and smiled, "I'm helping Ms. Novak with her papers, sir." She extended her hand to him that didn't hold the ugly cat mug.

He shook it, "I'm Captain Cragen, and I see you have the ugly fucking cat mug."

She nodded and giggled, "My name is Megan."

"Did Casey explain the rules to you?" He asked as she poured a cup of coffee.

She finished and shook her head. She giggled again, "No, but you remind me of my dad."

He laughed and then sternly advised, "Just ask her about the rules when you get back in her office."

"Thanks, Mr. Cragen." She smiled at him again, and then headed back to Casey's office. She glanced at the evidence board as she passed. She smirked. She reentered the attorney's little space and said, "Here you go, Ms. Novak."

"It's Casey, Megan. You can call me Casey."

She nodded, "I met Mr. Cragen."

Casey resisted laughing, "Did you call him that?"

"Yeah. He told me to tell you to tell me the rules."

"Oh…" One corner of Casey's mouth curled into a half-smile, "The rules…basically, you're an outsider, no one is going to trust you, don't snoop, don't ask questions, don't talk to anyone unless they talk to your first. Stay in here, unless you're with me, or I send you for coffee, of course. There a lot going on right now, and we don't need anyone leaking anything to the press and whatnot."

"I wouldn't do that." Megan almost seemed offended.

"I trust you," Casey blew on her coffee.

She squinted, focusing her blue eyes on the lawyer's green ones, "Why?"

Casey shrugged, "I just do, but don't give me a reason not to."

She sighed and turned away, acting as if she were looking around at the chaos, "What if I already have?"

"Did you say something?" Casey asked.

"Yeah…what do you need me to do?"

"Alright," Casey took a gulp of her coffee, and she pointed to one mound of papers, "First, file all of those into that filing cabinet. There are headers at the top of each sheet, and there are already files for everything…the papers just need to go in them." She pointed to a pile that rested on the little, ratty sofa in the back of her office, "That shit needs to be sorted into three piles according to the case number."

"Ok." She nodded.

"After you finish all of that, talk to me again, I'll be here preparing my argument for Monday's case, and we'll go to lunch at some point."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Just call me Casey," she said again, kindly.

A few phone calls trickled in, regarding the strategic articles that were run in assorted papers that day, thanks to Cragen dropping them off on his way home that night before. The clock ticked, and everyone hoped no call would come in about another man being mutilated. Sam and Dean lurked, hoping for something to surface to point to the next victim before said unfortunate individual actually became the next victim, but nothing. The clock kept ticking…

At lunchtime, Sam and Dean went out to get lunch for themselves and their new detective friends. Shortly after they left, Casey's little assistant resurfaced from the attorney's office. As she crossed the open room, every man's head turned. Elliot was talking to Olivia and stopped in mid-sentence, and he studied her.

She smiled, and didn't make eye contact with anyone.

Olivia followed Elliot's gaze and realized the nearby Munch and Fin were also looking in the same direction, along with every other man in the damn room.

"Excuse me, who are you?" The lady detective asked.

Megan stopped and seemed puzzled.

"Oh, that's just a girl helping out Casey," Cragen told her.

When he spoke the spell over the other men was broken. Fin shook his head and looked back down at his desk, while John Munch lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Elliot cleared his throat and seemed to have completely forgotten what he was saying. The other men milling around and working continued with their tasks and the noise picked up in the place again.

"I'm going to get Casey's lunch. She wants a gyro." Megan said pleasantly to Olivia.

"I see…" She shrugged and turned her chair back around to face Elliot, and Megan left.

"Nice girl. Don't know where Casey found her," Cragen seemed to be in a better mood today, despite the minimal progress.

"She know the rules?" Olivia asked.

"I'm sure. She walked straight through and didn't look at a single thing." Cragen moved on to Munch's desk.

Olivia looked at her partner, who still seemed dazed, "What was that about? That girl was young enough to be your daughter."

He shook his head again, as if to shake an image away, "I don't know. I guess I'm just tired. I'll grab another cup of coffee…"

With Elliot's train of thought completely derailed, the brunette detective dropped in on her lawyer friend. She knocked lightly then opened the door.

Casey looked up from her work, "Hey."

"Who's that girl?" She got straight to the point.

"Her name's Megan. She's helping me get all of this crap done. She already filed all of the old stuff that I'd let pile up." She bit the end of her pen.

"Did you tell her the rules?"

She nodded, "Of course. She hasn't asked any questions about anything. She's been real quiet and just does what I say."

"When she walked through, all of the men looked at her."

Casey shrugged, "She's hot."

Olivia seemed contented enough, bade her farewell, and went back to her own desk. Olivia had once let a reporter she was dating get his hands on information about a case out of carelessness, so she was a stickler now for the rules.

"Sandwiches for everyone!" Dean announced making a dramatic entrance through the doors.

Sam followed, carrying the sandwiches. "Turkey on rye for Mr. Munch," he placed a nicely wrapped sandwich in front of him. "Roast beef for Mr. Tutuola," another sandwich was deposited, "Italian for Mr. Stabler and BLT for Ms. Benson." He tracked down Cragen, "Meatball marinara for the Captain."

"They can't possibly be FBI," Munch said quietly to his partner, "They have to be CIA. The FBI would not get us lunch."

"But the CIA would?" Fin asked.

Munch nodded, knowingly.

As everyone attempted to enjoy their lunch, Megan re-entered to the same results as before. Every man stopped what they were doing, they stopped chewing, stopped talking, stopped reading. They looked up and they turned. Dean's jaw dropped and a bite of partially chewed food tumbled out and onto his lap. Sam stopped in mid-bite and his eyes followed her as she walked by in what looked like slow motion. She looked at no one, and spoke to no one, she went straight back into Casey's office. When the door clicked shut, the room came back to life.

"What the hell, guys?" Olivia asked everyone. "Seriously?"

Dean frowned, picked up his slightly masticated sandwich and put it back in his mouth. Between chews he said, "That girl was hot."

"Yeah," Sam agreed and took his bite.

The day wore on and some leads were followed, but were dead ends. All of the men became increasingly anxious as time passed, knowing that one of their fellow menfolk, rapist or not, was probably going to face a horrible fate in a few hours.

In the microcosm that was Casey's office, everything was quite serene. By six, Megan had finished all of her tedious tasks, and Casey felt quite good about the following Monday. Megan had taken a seat on the sofa behind her as she clasped the latches of her briefcase.

"I wonder if anyone has made any progress out there?" The strawberry blonde referred to the detectives and their cannibalistic serial killer drama.

"No."

Casey turned and looked at her, "Did you break a rule?"

She became sort of flustered, "No, no, no…they were all just really intense when I went to fill up your ugly cat cup last time, so I…um…assumed."

"Well, how much do you want for helping me? I'll write you a check." She changed the subject.

"You don't need to pay me. I just wanted to help."

Casey crinkled her nose, seeming displeased, "I have to do something."

"No, you don't."

"I'll buy you dinner."

"You'll buy me dinner?" Megan asked her confused.

"Yeah, there's a new Italian place that I've been meaning to try."

She winced, "I can't do Italian. I hate garlic. I can't go near the stuff, and Italian places always reek of it."

Casey made another disappointed face, "Well…Chinese then? We can grab some takeout and eat it at my place."

Megan finally agreed with an unsure shrug.

"You don't like Chinese either?"

"It's not my favorite…" She said reluctantly. She didn't want to make Casey sad.

"What do you like?"

"I…I eat a lot of salads. I like vegetables."

Casey chewed her bottom lip, "Alright. So…we'll go to the grocery store then go to my place and then I'll give you a ride home."

"Casey," she tried to protest, "I have to be somewhere at nine."

"We'll be done by nine and I can drop you off."

"No, I-"

"Don't argue. I'm a lawyer and I insist."

_**Note: **So I lied about the exact excitement level of this chapter. I'm building tension? Also, I have no idea why I chose to use Casey instead of Alex, when I greatly prefer Alex as far as the hot lawyer's of _SVU_ go._


	7. How Everyone Failed

**_Warning: _**_This chapter contains Sam having feelings._

How everyone failed…

The tall brunette in her short black dress strutted down the sidewalk in her stilettos. She had been dropped off outside of a club under the pretense it was a friend's birthday. As soon as the car pulled away, she walked from the club in the opposite direction. She walked fast and for over a mile with her heels clicking rapidly on the concrete of the sidewalk and then she waited on a corner under a streetlight that kept flickering. She showed no sign of being winded, but after a few minutes of standing there in the shadows, she wobbled as if her knees were weak, and she held on limply to her purse. She stood, teetering like that for some time, twitching, and blinking her eyes heavily.

A man approached. He thought she had to be a junkie hooker, and those were his favorites – the crack whores and heroin addicts. He was from the south, and spoke with a strong southern accent. He had salt and pepper hair and leathery skin. He passed by her, looking her over, but then he came back a minute later. She knew he would.

"Hey…big boy…" she mumbled and licked her lips. She grabbed the front of his shirt weakly.

"You want me to get you a place to stay, ma'am?" He seemed nice enough with his southern drawl and sparkling eyes. He put his arm around her shoulders and steadied her on her feet.

They walked a few blocks to the same seedy hotel that Sam and Dean occupied a room in. They were, in fact, in their room theorizing and loading their guns.

"You gotta act like you're ok now, baby?" The southern man spoke more seductively now, before they entered. He reached down and squeezed one of her ass cheeks gruffly with his hand.

She straightened up and tried to focus her dilated eyes ahead of them.

"Don't talk," he said to her, "Let me do all the talkin'."

They walked through the doors and went to the receptionist's counter. The man said, "I think my daughter has a bad case of food poisonin'. Can we get a room?"

"Of course, sir." The Indian man behind the counter said, looking up from his school books. He didn't ask why they had no bags. It wasn't his business. He knew she had to be a pro, but he said nothing – to each their own. He needed to study.

They exchanged some cash and some key cards. The man said his name was Hardy. It was actually his real name. Most men were smart enough not to give their real name in addition to paying in cash, but that didn't really matter. They took the elevator to the second floor, and they entered room 201. The room had two twin beds, but that didn't matter either. Hardy locked the door.

The girl stumbled over herself and collapsed on the floor at the foot of the closest bed.

"What's your drug of choice, baby? Heroin? Meth?"

She babbled incoherently, and seemed frustrated that she couldn't communicate.

"It's ok, baby. I don't like girls that talk." He bent down, put his arms around her and sniffed her hair. He smelled like body odor and old cigarettes. He moved her onto the bed and laid his heavy body on top of hers. He rubbed his hardening cock onto her leg. He plunged his tongue deep into her ear, most awkwardly, dripping saliva on her neck and in her hair.

She wriggled a bit and whined, but said nothing coherent.

His big hands touched her roughly.

"You gotta pay…" she said finally, very quietly.

He stood up, getting off of her, leaving her sprawled on the bed with her legs wide open. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He grinned, his teeth tobacco stained, "Looks like I gave all of my cash up for this here room. That'll be your payment. You'll get a place to stay off the street. I'm doin' you a favor, baby."

She forced herself up onto her elbows and her head lolled, "You gotta pay…up front…for the services…"

"Don't have any cash, baby." He sat his wallet on the end table, and started to take off his pants. As he undressed he continued to run off at the mouth, "You know what's good about workin' girls? They can't do a damn thing if I don't pay them." He took off his shirt, exposing his hairy chest, "You gonna tell the cops that I robbed you and you're a hooker? I don't think so."

She stared at him blankly as a pigeon cooed outside of the window.

He talked some more while he jerked on his own dick, "You can't do a damn thing, and I can do whatever I want."

Her eyes narrowed, focusing, she smiled, "Your wife know you're here?"

"How do you know I even have a wife? I might be a life-long bachelor and ladies' man, baby." He asked, still playing with his own appendage beneath his beer gut.

"Does your wife know you fuck hookers without condoms? Does she know you go after the _junkies_? Does she know you _target_ the girls you think can't fend you off?"

"You're talkin' too much, baby." He got closer,

She didn't move and she stared at him, "How many _working girls_ have you fucked and not paid and just left like they're garbage?"

"Really, baby, I'm gonna have to put my cock in your mouth to make you shut the fuck up, aren't I?"

The pigeon cooed again, and he realized the blinds were open. He padded across the room to close the curtain.

"How many hookers closed their legs for you because you wouldn't pay and then you _raped_ them anyway?"

He closed the blinds and pulled the curtains to, "Rape is a strong word, especially comin' from a whore. You can't rape a whore."

In the blink of an eye, she leapt on him and dug her nails into his shoulders, drawing blood. She whirled him around and it seemed that she picked him up and put him on the other bed. He lay on his back, and she straddled him. She held him down by his shoulders, still digging her nails in deeper and deeper. He couldn't budge her. He couldn't move his arms. He felt paralyzed and panic began to overtake him. He didn't want to yell for help, he didn't want anyone to catch him indisposed like this.

"What are you doin', baby?" He managed to gasp out.

"I'm not your _fucking_ baby, and _you_ need to shut the _fuck_ up." She licked her lips again, and grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

"Please…" he started to beg.

She laughed, "Pleading with a _whore_ is pretty unbecoming, you fucking pig…I'm going to have to shut you up. I guess I'm gonna have to put _your_ dick in _your_ mouth."

"No, no…please…"

She smiled. She put one hand on his throat, holding his head in place, so he could see, and reached down between his legs with the other. She ripped and tore and he _couldn't_ scream anymore, nor could he shut his eyes. She looked at his penis and seemed disappointed. She held it between her thumb and forefinger, "This is really unimpressive…" She squeezed his neck and saw the fear in his eyes. He opened his mouth. He didn't want to, but he couldn't fight it. She dropped his bleeding cock piece into the gaping hole, and she pushed it down with one finger until he seized up and started to sputter. She said, "I don't think this is big enough for you to choke on."

Blood poured from between his legs, and in a flash it also poured from his neck. He wanted to scream now. He didn't care who saw him. He knew he was doing to die, but he felt completely paralyzed. Then she slashed at his chest wildly, splashing cascades of blood all over the comforter and the headboard. Last, she ripped open his abdomen. With a smile she pulled out his intestines and held them high above her head, squeezing them between her fingers. She cackled, and then dove in to nibble on his man bacon, as he lay there, unable to move or cry out, and unable to look away.

She ate her fill and he still twitched with some life, as his blood continued to bubble from his throat. She licked her fingers clean and then she looked down between his legs, "I think I need to do something a bit different…" She tilted her head, contemplatively, while flicking his wrinkled, old nut sack, "I think…"

Grabbing her testicles in her hands, one in each hand, she stretched. She stretched as far as the skin would go, and when it went as far as it could, she still pulled. She pulled and pulled, until the flesh tore. He stopped moving. She held his balls in her hand and looked back at him, sad that he seemed to have passed sooner than she wanted. She posed him as she did the others and then she delicately placed his balls on his chest.

She snickered, "Chestnuts."

Two floors up and a few rooms down, moments before Hardy's mauling began, Sam clutched his head, for the first time having a vision about the monster they hunted. He couldn't control this power he had, and he hated its unpredictability. He saw the blood and the tearing and the skin, and the hands with nails, clawing like an animal.

"Sam?" Dean asked, "What are you seeing?"

"Shit…" He mumbled, "It looks like…it looks like…_fuck_!"

"Sammy, do you see her? Do you see what's going to happen?" Dean put his hands on his brother's shoulders as he sat on the edge of his bed.

Sam took a deep breath, "We have to hurry! It's about to happen!" He stood up, "It's happening in this fucking hotel! I recognized the fucking bedspread!"

"What room? What floor?" Dean shook him.

"I don't know!" He said frantically. "I can't…I can't tell!"

"We have to save this poor bastard!" Finally, Dean let him go. He ran to his bag, grabbing salt, a flask of holy water, and then he pulled out a pistol. He tucked the gun into the back of his pants and put on his jacket to conceal it, "Let's go!"

Sam felt frozen. Part of him didn't want to save this man. Part of him knew the world was a better place without him, but his family…his family had no idea of his double-life and they loved him – they would miss him, and they probably wouldn't believe anything that would defame him, even if it were proven to be true without a doubt.

Dean ran out zealously and left the door open. Sam looked at it sadly. He stared down the hall for a long time, and he waited to hear the screams, screams he knew wouldn't come. His brother ran up and down all of the halls, he ran up and down the stairs, and he listened on every floor, but he didn't hear a sound. An hour passed, and then an hour and a half. The deed was long done.

Panting and with sweat beading down his face, Dean went back to the room. The door was still open where he left it and he found Sam sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, crying quietly. He slammed the door, "What the fuck, Sam?"

He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head.

"I couldn't find the fucking guy! Had you been looking too, we probably would have!"

He shook his head.

"Are you sure it was this fucking hotel?"

He nodded and fought back another deluge of tears.

"Well…" Dean paced angrily for a moment, trying to calm down. He ruffled his short, dark hair, and rubbed his jaw. Calm didn't come and he yelled again, "What the fuck?"

"She's killing bad people, Dean."

"I don't give a shit if she killed Hitler! She's a fucking evil monster! You can't go getting all sympathetic on me, Sam! You wanted to be a god damn hunter, and you can't pussy out now! We kill monsters! It doesn't fucking matter if they seem like they're doing good or not!"

He slumped farther forward and wiped his eyes before looking up at his older brother, "I couldn't see her…I only saw her hands and _him_. I'm sorry, Dean. She did something to him and he couldn't scream, we wouldn't have found him."

Dean sat down, feeling suddenly exhausted and defeated. "This may have been our only chance…she was _here_. We could've had her. We could've finished what Bobby couldn't."

"We need to call Bobby…I'm pretty sure it's his witch…"


	8. The next day

The next day…

Ten was the checkout time for the sordid, old hotel, so no one found the body until the keycards didn't turn up. The morning receptionist called the room and got no answer, so she went to see if this Hardy character left without bringing the keycards back to the desk, or to potentially remind him that he needed to leave.

Cragen had come in at seven, as usual, although it was a Sunday. He waited for, and dreaded, the call saying there was another murder victim. The call did come. Elliot went out to the scene.

"Talk to everyone, and get in touch with whoever checked the guy in last night." Cragen sighed. He seemed very sad, "You know the drill."

_Agent Todd_ showed up at the scene at about the same time.

"What're you doing here?" Elliot asked.

"Checking out the scene with you, obviously."

"How did you know?"

"I'm FBI, man," he said and patted the bigger fellow on the back, "We know shit before you know shit."

They both lifted the police tape across the doorway into the room and stepped under.

"Fuck…" Dean said under his breath, seeing the gory mess. He got close enough to the carnage to see the man's nuts on his chest. He couldn't resist a full body twitch, a gag, and a quick cup of his own balls. It all happened in the same second.

Elliot winced and looked away, "Fuck this." He started out, grabbing the sleeve of one of the CSIs, he asked, "Who is he?"

"Found his wallet on the nightstand, he had about three hundred in cash, four credit cards, and his name is Hardy Smith." The mousy man with rubber gloves on handed Elliot the man's ID. "No sign of forced entry or any sort of theft."

"As usual…" Elliot mumbled, and jotted down all of his information before saying, "Send SVU the crime scene photos and that whole deal – you know how it goes. Comb this whole fucking carpet, check the toilet, check the shower, find _something_ for us. Just one fucking fingerprint would be good."

"There will be lots of fingerprints…it's a hotel…" The man muttered under his breath.

Dean followed Elliot back out into the hall and said, "That shit's fucked up."

"Yeah. I need to go back downstairs and see who was working the front desk last night."

"Already got it," Dean pulled out his own notepad, where he had written down the contact information for Ben Patel.

Detective Stabler smiled a bit, "You're actually pretty useful for an FBI agent. Let's go wake this guy up."

At about that time, Casey woke up to the sound of someone needing to be buzzed in to her apartment building. She stumbled out of her bed, noting how bright it was outside, but not quite caring. She grabbed a bathrobe that lay carelessly on her bedroom floor to cover her bare alabaster skin. She pressed the button by the speaker and said, "Who is it?"

"Megan…" Said the meek voice.

She pressed another button, creating a different buzzing sound, then said, "Come on up."

The very drowsy Casey unlatched her door and sat down on her couch. The bowls and forks still sat on the coffee table from the night before.

Megan stepped in and closed the door quietly. Today she wore more casual clothes, a knee length skirt and a plain top with flats. She frowned, "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. It's late."

"Do you mind that I stopped by?" She still stood at the door, not actually entering.

Casey shook her head, "Not at all. Come sit down."

Megan took a seat next to her and tugged at the hem of her skirt nervously.

The attorney yawned, "Want some orange juice or coffee or anything?"

"No, thank you. I'm ok."

"Hungry?"

"No, I just ate."

Casey seemed disappointed, "Well, I'm going to start a pot of coffee and brush my teeth. You can help yourself to anything, and here…" She forced the TV remote into her hand, "Find something to watch."

"Are you going in to work today?" Asked Megan, as the other woman left the room.

"Nope. Thanks to you."

"Good…" She didn't say it loud enough for Casey to hear. She flipped through the channels for a few minutes and found some local news. She stopped, and turned the volume up. Casey came out of the bathroom, still in her bathrobe, but with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.

"Oh, fuck…" The attorney said with a mouthful of toothpaste, making her look rather rabid. She saw the breaking news story. The details were vague, so vague that it could only be a cover up because it was the work of the serial killer. The reporter said only that a man was found murdered in this sleazy hotel, and his name wouldn't be released until his family was notified.

"What's the matter?" Megan's voice displayed concern. She knew well enough what was the matter.

"One minute…" Casey disappeared again, and Megan heard some water running. She came back out and took her seat next to her again, "I'm going to have to deal with this shit."

"Why? It doesn't seem very SVU related."

"I can't actually tell you…breaking the rules."

"Oh, yeah." She laughed nervously, "Sorry."

"It's ok – oh! Coffee!" Casey's mannerisms were all very deliberate and purposeful. She wasn't one of those spastic, dramatic types. She was very flat, it seemed, except for the day they literally ran into one another. She was tense and intense, even as she remembered that she had started a pot of coffee, but neglected to pour herself a cup.

"I hope you don't have another lithographed cat mug of an ugly ass cat," Megan said.

Casey turned, glared, and continued on her way.

"Why don't you have a cat now? Like a real cat."

From the kitchen she responded, "No time. Are you sure you don't want anything? I feel like a bad host."

"You're not a bad host if I don't want anything, Casey. Also, cats don't need time. They just need food and a litter box."

Casey returned and reclaimed her seat, "I'd never get to see the cat. I'm here for eight hours a day, if that."

Megan looked at her mug. This one had ducks on it. It looked like it was part of a manly set of coffee mugs and probably some duck plates too. She wondered if Casey had the entire set, or just the misplaced mug. She smiled, but said nothing.

"So tell me about yourself. How long have you been in New York?" The lawyer asked, pulling one of her legs under her and adjusting her bathrobe for minimal exposure.

"I've been in town for about two weeks," she propped her arm on the back of the couch and rested her head in her hand, looking at Casey, "I'm traveling."

"Alone?" This seemed weird to Casey.

Megan nodded, "Yeah. I'm probably going back to Europe after this."

"_Back _to Europe?"

She nodded again, "Yeah. I've been before, so I'm going back."

"Oh…so where are you staying?"

"Here and there."

"And you're doing all of this alone?" Casey knew she should ask open-ended questions instead. She felt like she had this girl on the stand and was grilling her. She couldn't quite get out of lawyer-mode these days.

"Yeah, I'm kinda…solitary."

"Why?"

"Why are you asking me why?" She smiled, "You seem pretty solitary yourself."

"I'm busy, not solitary. I'm not solitary by choice."

"Well, I just don't much care for people."

Casey made a pensive face, her brow creased, "Do you realize that you're really attractive?"

She burst into a fit of laughter. She cleared her throat and calmed down, "Are you hitting on me, Ms. Novak?"

"No, no, no!" Casey defended herself quickly, "I was just making an observation. I am certainly straight. I was engaged once. To a man."

"What happened? Being engaged _once_ isn't really a good argument for straightness."

Casey shook her head and looked down, "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Men are pigs."

"Not all of them," she protested.

A momentary awkward pause followed, but Megan remedied it. She tapped Casey on the knee and asked, "So have you always worked in the sex crimes?"

"No, I used to do white collar crimes."

"Oh, fancy."

Casey looked back up, "So if you don't much care for people, why'd you stop by? I'm a person."

She shrugged, "I don't know. I was in the area."

"You're kinda weird."

Another nonchalant shrug was followed out of nowhere by, "Do you wanna go to the zoo?"

Stabler and Dean knocked several times on the green door before Ben Patel answered. He wiped sleep from his eyes, having only gotten off work a few hours before, his black hair a mess.

"Can I help you?" He squinted at them.

They showed their badges. He nodded.

Elliot said, "We have some questions for you about work last night."

"Ok…" he wiped his eyes again, blinded by the sunlight.

"Do you remember checking in a man named…" Dean looked down at his notepad, "Hardy Smith?"

"What'd he look like?" Ben asked. He needed a refresher for his memory.

"About six feet tall, late 60s, graying hair…"

"Oh…oh, that guy. He came in right at the beginning of my shift, around eleven. He paid in cash…had a girl with him."

"What'd the girl look like?" Elliot asked.

"Hot. He said she was his daughter and that she had food poisoning. She seemed messed up to me, but she had brown hair, and was…well…hot. If you ask me, she was probably a prostitute and not his daughter, but it's not like I could ask him that – is that what this is about?"

"Not exactly…watch the news when you wake up, kid," said Elliot.

"Anything unusual happen last night?" Dean asked, "Any noises?"

He shook his head, "No…not really."

"Thanks," Elliot sighed and the two walked back down the steps.

Mr. Patel called after Dean, "Hey…aren't you staying in the hotel? Room four…something?"

He turned and shook his head, "Nope. You are clearly mistaking me for someone else." The young man didn't really care and the door closed. Dean said to Elliot then, "Wanna go see his family and find out of the girl was really his daughter?"

"Yep, and we'll get the pleasure of telling them that he's dead." Elliot sighed again. Everyone sighed a lot, "I hate this part…"

"Alright, so…" Megan walked backwards and faced Casey, "What's your favorite animal?"

"I don't know. I haven't been to the Zoo in…"

"I like the dangerous things: bigs cats, wolves, that stuff…the ones that may eat you if you make a wrong move."

The Bronx Zoo was huge and crowded with visitors. Casey felt guilty. She was sure there was something she could be working on, and as long as there was any work to be done, she shouldn't be permitted to visit the zoo, but she couldn't say no to the strange girl she let into her home. She followed the brunette as she led the way through the throngs of people.

"I prefer animals to people, if you couldn't tell," Megan said, walking by her side now.

"Couldn't tell at all…" She said sarcastically, noticing that the sea of people seemed to part for the two of them. Her zoo companion was excellent at navigating. "Have you been here before?"

"Almost everyday since I got here," she answered, "Because I-"

"Prefer animals to people. I get it."

They reached the snow leopard enclosure. The young spotted cat lay quietly in the back, sleeping in the sun. It lay on its side with its paws outstretched. He was just an adolescent by snow leopard standards.

"I feel like whenever I went to the zoo as a kid, the cats would always be far away and never up close where you could see them." Casey mused.

Megan tapped on the glass very lightly with one finger.

"Don't do that," Casey whispered as if they would certainly be in trouble, and grabbed her wrist.

"He's not a fish and there are no signs saying I can't tap on the glass." Megan laughed and spoke at a normal level. She tapped again with her other hand.

The cat opened its eyes and stretched. He yawned exposing his teeth then he got to his feet and he padded over closer to the glass. He looked at the women, almost seeming amused. He came closer and sat down in front of them. He wasn't terribly large, just three feet from head to tail and most of that seemed to be his tail, the end of which twitched slightly.

Casey noticed then that there were no other people around. Everyone passed by the large glass displays to look in on this particular cat. How peculiar, and how peculiar was the cat as well. He yawned again.

"It looks soft," she stated.

"Snow leopards are very soft."

"How do you know?"

"I used to work with them. I studied zoology and animal science."

Casey was impressed, and took a guess, "Oh, is that what you did in Europe?"

Megan nodded slowly, "Partially…yes. I've also been to Africa. I love lions." She got excited by the thought much like a child, "We should go see them next, and the tigers."

"Ok. Whatever you want…" Casey's voice trailed off as she watched the brunette seem to interact with the cat silently through the glass. As they headed on their way, he followed them as far as he could to the corner of his enclosure and he seemed to watch them leave. Casey looked over her shoulder several times, and he still stared at them until they rounded the corner and she could no longer see him.

Dean rode shotgun with Elliot and they listened to rock music, rather than discussing the present case of murder, especially the slight change in the MO. Elliot drummed on the steering wheel and the two men belted Led Zeplin until they arrived at an apartment complex about two miles from the hotel where their days more or less began.

After shutting off the engine, Elliot took a deep breath and made sure his tie and his suit looked straight. Dean watched him and then did the same. They exited the black car and went up the appropriate set of steps. The real detective rang the doorbell, and they both waited, standing erect and silent.

An older woman answered the door. She had blue hair with pink curlers in it. She seemed to already expect the worst and looked like she had been up all night, probably worrying about her missing husband, who was now located, but not in one piece.

"Is this about my husband?" She asked, shakily and with a distinct southern accent as soon as she saw their badges.

Elliot nodded, "I'm sorry ma'am, but-"

"Was he in an accident?" She interrupted him, "Why is the FBI here?"

"May we come in?" Dean asked.

She opened the door wider and allowed the men to enter. They gathered around her coffee table and Elliot broke the news to her as gently as he could. She sat for a while in a state of shock and disbelief.

After allowing her a moment, Elliot asked, "Did anyone have a grudge against your husband?"

"No…we just moved here a few months ago from Georgia."

"Ma'am, do you have a daughter?" Dean asked her.

She nodded slowly, "Two."

"The gentleman at the front desk said he came in with a young woman that he said was his daughter," Elliot told her. "Can we speak to them?"

She shook her head, "They live in Georgia…"

"Any chance they're visiting?" Dean asked.

She shook her head again.

"Do you have pictures of them?"

Pointing to the mantle above their television with a shaking and wrinkled hand, she said, "There."

He stood and took the framed family picture down. Neither of the girls seemed to match the description, as they both had sandy blonde hair. He let Agent Todd take a look at the photo and sat the picture back in its place. After he finished up everything with Mrs. Smith, he handed her his card, and both men stepped back out into the sun.

"Neither of those girls were hot," Dean asserted.

"Agreed, but now we seem to have a suspect at least…a hot girl, who doesn't leave any sort of DNA evidence anywhere, ever."

A witch, Dean thought. He'd have to sneak back into room 201 and look for witchcraft paraphernalia, or traces of the paranormal that would be overlooked by a normal forensic crew.


	9. Bobby in the City

Bobby in the City

Sam took the Impala to the airport to retrieve their mentor and father-esque figure later that evening after an ultimately uneventful, but chaotic day around SVU headquarters. There were no fingerprints in the room that were useful. A good number were identified as the vic's, but it was a hotel room, so there were fingerprints everywhere – of course. Lots of things were found, but nothing viable. Warner's report showed that the man died from exsanguination from the wounds in his neck and stomach. The strength and force it would take to literally _rip off_ a man's privates didn't make sense to any of the detectives. Tools would need to be used, but Warner could find absolutely no sign of any tools or equipment on the body.

"This sure isn't fucking South Dakota!" Bobby exclaimed to the boy, coming through the crowd. He wore a flannel shirt under a vest and a trucker hat sat on top of his head, looking pretty out of place. He didn't even bring a bag with him. He couldn't, since you can't really bring an arsenal of guns on planes.

Sam hugged him and the bearded man slapped him on the back several times with his big palms.

Once back out to the car, Sam said, "I just got off the phone with Dean and he said he searched the room high and low for anything witchcraft related. He didn't find a single candle, pentagram, or-"

"How many times do I have to tell you boys that this isn't a witch like you're used to? It's an _old_ witch, from when witches were witches." He groaned, annoyed that no one listened to him, "This witch doesn't open doors for demons or worship Satan, Sammy."

"Then-"

"I'm pretty sure we're dealing with a witch that's thousands of years old, who probably prayed to gods that are long dead. We're looking for a witch with _real_ power…probably part god herself."

"What?"

"The old gods were always fucking women, you know that. Haven't you heard of Hercules?"

"Yes, but-"

"Well, we've gotta figure out who the hell this is to know how to kill her. Everyone has a weakness like Achilles and his heel."

"But if she's not leaving any clues-"

"Her lack of clues _is_ a clue, you moron. I just don't know who she is yet. I've been trying to fucking figure it out for twenty-five years. This bitch left a trail of victims from California to Michigan back then, and I followed her every step of the way for two weeks."

"And she went after rapists?"

"Not sure if they were all rapists, but all seven had been in jail for one thing or another, four were for domestic violence…child abuse and shit."

Sam kept his eyes on the road, "Seven?"

"Yeah, seven. Then she disappeared, or maybe she didn't…maybe she was right under my nose the whole time and I never knew it, since I didn't really know what I was looking for. I dunno why she was going to Michigan, but that was where it stopped."

"So we've got two more people left before she probably disappears again…"

"Right…" Bobby nodded, "But damn if I won't put a bullet in her head before then."

"Even if she's taking out bad people?"

Bobby looked at Sam and said sternly, "Sammy, you can't just go around killing people, even if they're bad people."

Sam sighed, "Aren't we doing the same thing?"

"No, we're not killing _people_, we're killing _things_."

"Interesting distinction…"

Meanwhile, Casey and Megan returned to Casey's apartment after stopping for dinner at a Mediterranean place up the street. Megan enjoyed her Greek food.

"What time do you need to be at work tomorrow?" Asked Megan.

"I have to be in court at eight, so I need to get up at six to shower and run by the office before I go."

"You need to get to bed then."

"I need to wind down first," she said, sitting down on the couch and turning on the TV, "I can't believe you talked me into going to the damn zoo."

"Can I…" Megan started and almost didn't finish her sentence, but forced out, "Can I make you something that'll help you sleep? I promise you'll like it."

"I usually just have a glass of wine. What could you possibly make me?"

"I studied herbology, I can make you a drink from stuff in your kitchen if you just give me time to boil some things, and…you let me, of course."

Casey put her feet up on the coffee table, "Isn't that something from Harry Potter?"

"Yes, but seriously. I studied botany and all that."

"What did you _not_ study, Megan?"

She shrugged and waited for Casey to grant her permission to use the kitchen.

"Go for it," she gave in quite quickly.

"You'll like it, I promise. Really."

"Don't poison me."

Megan stopped in her tracks and looked hurt, "I wouldn't do that to you."

Casey noted her concern and clarified, "I was joking."

The girl disappeared into the kitchen, and Casey heard some cabinets open. She heard some pots clank. Then she heard the blender and water running. She smelled a faintly sweet aroma after a while, and her curiosity got the best of her. She got up and walked slowly toward the kitchen. She leaned on the doorframe and watched Megan mumble while she stirred a large pot on her stove as if mixing a potion. Steam emanated from the pot, and there were several small bowls of things sitting on the countertop. She would take a pinch of one and drop it in.

Megan turned slowly and shot her an offended look before shooing her back into the living room, "Don't watch, it's a secret recipe."

"What's in it?"

"A secret!" She insisted. "It's almost done, just wait a minute."

A few minutes later, Megan came out bearing a coffee mug in one of her hands. She handed the steaming liquid to Casey. The attorney looked into the cup at the opaque and creamy, light green liquid. She smelled it. It didn't smell bad at all. It smelled sweet and a little spicy.

"Careful, it's hot," Megan smiled. "I promise you'll sleep amazingly and wake up tomorrow totally ready for your trial and everything and you'll kick ass and have a fantastic day."

Casey carefully took a sip. It reminded her of chai, but it wasn't chai. It had a hint of peppermint, honey, and something like hazelnut. She couldn't even fathom what Megan found in her kitchen to create this concoction. She nodded, "Mmm…"

"I put the rest in your fridge. It'll keep for a few days. Drink some every night, and you'll thank me." She looked the woman over, "You're still wearing your shoes. You've gotta take your shoes off to relax and drink this stuff." Without warning, she bent down and carefully removed Casey's heels. She couldn't believe Casey wore heels to the zoo. Who does that?

Casey tilted her head to the side and sipped the strange drink as Megan began to delicately massage her feet, "Don't tell me you also studied massage."

She laughed, "I'm sorry, I did. Can I move the table? I need more elbow room."

Casey nodded slightly, more interested in the bizarre drink. "I feel sort of like you're my slave."

"No, I want to." Megan insisted and moved the cluttered table back a bit. She sat on her knees directly in front of the redhead and began working her left foot. She paid attention to each pedicured toe, the arch, and then her ankle. She moved up her smooth leg and to her calf. She went as high as her knee and switched legs.

"I must have accumulated some fucking karma points to have met you…" She sighed, relaxed, and leaned her head back onto the back of the couch to enjoy the attention to her feet. She was overdue for another pedi with the pandemonium of the last week. Little Chinese girls were the only people who ever touched her feet.

Megan said nothing and did the same routine to her right leg. She looked as Casey clutched her drink and closed her eyes. Megan thought for a moment and then put her hands on Casey's left knee. She made circles with her thumbs around the cap, and moved her fingers around the back. When she'd finished she did the same to her right knee.

Casey only changed her position to take sips of her drink. She found herself gulping it down as it cooled. The closer it got to room temperature the more fruity the flavor became.

The younger girl paused and thought for another moment before she placed her hands carefully above Casey's left knee this time. Her hands were now just slightly under the cute skirt that Casey had put on, matching her heels perfectly – Casey was one of those girls with a pair of shoes and a bag to perfectly match every outfit. The minutes passed and the sounds of the TV seemed distant and muffled to the lawyer. Casey's voice caught in her throat as she felt the girl's hands moving up her thigh. She took the last swallow of the drink, but clasped the cup tightly in both of her hands.

"Is this ok?" Megan asked, quietly.

"Mmhmm." Casey became self-conscious, which was a rare occurrence. She feared her response had come out sounding like more of a gasp than she had intended.

Megan stopped mid-thigh, leaving sensations Casey didn't understand radiating up her body. She moved to the other leg, and did the same. Casey felt all of the tension flowing from her, like it was going out of her toes. Her legs felt like jelly, but in the most pleasant way imaginable. Before she wanted it to end, it did, leaving her wanting…something. She wasn't quite sure what.

Megan took the cup from her hands and sat it on the table behind her, seeing that it had been emptied.

"Thank you," Casey looked up at the ceiling.

"Casey, you need to smile more." Megan said awkwardly in nearly a whisper as she picked at her nails, still sitting on the floor at the other woman's feet.

"Huh?" She raised her head to give her a baffled look.

She wasn't sure if Casey didn't understand or if she hadn't heard or what, "Smile. Just…loosen up."

The woman sort of smiled, but not quite. She wouldn't let herself, "Why?"

Megan looked up, "You have a pretty smile, and I think you work too much."

"I work too much, says the girl who has studied everything in the world," she scoffed.

"Not everything. I never studied Law."

Casey squinted at her, "You really are weird. I say that in the most affectionate way possible, of course."

Megan smiled quite easily, "Ok."

Casey sat up straight and stretched her arms. She sighed and slouched forward. She made a face, and her hand drifted to the other girl's hair. She said, "Don't move, you have lint...or something. It looks like a flax seed, actually. I didn't even know I had flax seeds in my kitchen. I don't even know what you use flax seeds for…" She got a bit excited and started speaking more quickly like she had when they first met, "Did you put fucking flax seeds in that drink?"

Megan froze, and let the woman's fingers grasp the rogue seed. She waited, and felt Casey's hand trace her jaw line. She was forced gently to look up at the attorney via a single finger under her chin.

"You have amazing hair…and skin," Casey observed. She leaned forward and slowly ran her fingers through her brown locks.

"It has a lot to do with what I eat…" Megan looked toward her and into her eyes. She looked down quickly and shyly.

"You barely eat from what I've seen." She rolled her eyes.

She started to pull away. She wanted to leave, but she had to clean up the kitchen. She would go do that. She backed up and began to get to her feet.

"What's wrong?" Casey asked with her hand on the side of the young woman's head.

"Smile, Casey." She said again without looking up. She sat with her hands in her lap.

Casey sort of half smiled – out of bewilderment at her persistence with this odd request. Fluidly, Megan stood and before either knew what was happening, she had straddled Casey and she held her face carefully in her hands very near to her own.

Casey didn't struggle or try to make an escape, she couldn't, not that she wanted to. Her body ached with a difficult to describe desire and tingled in a way it hadn't in years. God, she thought, she must be really fucking lonely, and Megan must have drugged her with that green drink. Or Megan was like one of those hot celebrities that straight girls are attracted to in an unrealistic, superficial way. She closed her eyes, leaned forward, and their lips met only lightly before she smiled.

"Thank _you_," Megan said to her before carefully putting her hair behind her ears, and touching the corners of her mouth with her thumbs.

Casey laughed loudly and rested her forehead on the other girl's shoulder, "I did the whole collegiate lesbian experimentation thing a long time ago…"

Her arms draped around her and she laughed too, "Before or while you were engaged to a man?"

"Before…" She felt Megan's heart racing. It was racing more than her own, by far, and she wondered what the hell was happening.

"I should go…I need to clean up your kitchen and you need to get to bed." Megan gained some control and pulled away. She got up and moved quickly into the kitchen before Casey could say anything else.

When she came back out, she found Casey still fully clothed, but sleeping contently on the couch with her arms wrapped tightly around a throw pillow. She sighed. Quietly, she crept over to the table and she set Casey's alarm on her BlackBerry for six in the morning. She turned off the TV, and looked at the woman, who was out cold in front of her. She ventured into Casey's bedroom and came out with a fleece blanket that she covered her with before she went to the door. She opened it quietly and flipped the light switch, engulfing Casey in darkness.

Bobby and the Winchesters stayed up late that night in the small hotel room. They drank beer and bitched at each other like a family does – a dysfunctional family of broken people, that is.

"I did not butt-dial you, you jackass," Bobby said to Sam.

"But I can look at the call history!" He argued and pulled out his phone and started to press buttons. He would prove it.

"How would I dial my fucking phone with my ass and not know it, Sammy?"

"You fucking called me, and I got up to take your call. I walked away from the damn group and I saw our wanted poster on the fucking board with all of the wanted posters on it. I tore it down, and then I answered. I heard you opening a beer and pulling out a chair. You had some music on in the background, and…"

"And?" Bobby demanded more.

"I was wondering how Bobby ass-dialed his fucking medieval cell phone when it makes loud ass beeps if you press the buttons." Dean inserted his two cents, raised his eyebrows, and then sipped his beer.

Sam seemed confused and stared at his own cellular, "It's not here…"

"What's not?" Bobby pressed, "You mean I didn't call you? No shit, I didn't call you. I don't keep my phone anywhere where I can possibly _accidentally_ dial your damn phone."

"Had you not called me, I wouldn't have found that poster and ripped it down." Sam was confused and upset now.

"But I didn't call you, Sam."

"Maybe you were drunk," suggested the younger Winchester.

Dean chimed in again, "_That_ is a possibility, but where's his call in your phone?"

The older man casually drank a beer from a dark bottle and said, "So let's think about some mythological witches…rather than technological bullshit."

"Um…let's see…" Dean started, flipping through some papers he had gathered, "My first guess is Baba-Yaga."

Sam said, "She ate kids."

"What about…what about…" Dean twirled his index finger in a circle, apparently trying to turn the gears in his head, "Hecate?"

Bobby shook his head, "Nah. She's too old."

"What about…the Lady of the Lake? That bitch from the legends of King Arthur?" Dean just kept throwing things out. Every name he countered in his packet of papers.

"Morgan le Fay? Dead," Bobby asserted and then looked and Sam, "You got any ideas or you gonna let your big brother just keep guessing? You're supposed to be the smart one."

"The obayifo?"

The older man laughed and slammed his beer bottle onto the tabletop, "That fuck was basically a vampire."

"Drinker of kid's blood…says so right here…" Dean pointed to another sheet of paper, feeling accomplished.

Sam gritted his teeth and tried again, "The volva-"

"Old hag!" Bobby cracked open another beer, "I'm thinking Spearfinger."

"That sounds dirty," Dean took a big gulp of beer.

"She was a Native American witch," Bobby told them, "And a cannibal."

Exhaling, Sam ran his hand through his hair, "Who we're after is obviously some sort of seductress…"

"To me, witches are always ugly because they're evil." Dean went through the motions of making a toast, proud of his own statement.

Bobby toasted him back, "We're looking for an old, but hot, seductress witch…who is strong enough to overpower grown men and stops them from screaming…she doesn't leave fingerprints or anything else useful…"

"She eats the man-bacon, not internal organs…of bad men," added Dean.

"This is ridiculous." Sam chugged the remainder of his beer, and reached down for another from the community beer pool in the center of the three of them.

Dean followed his lead and began to slurp down his adult beverage, "Here's to hot girl monsters whose faces we're going to blow off."

Bobby joined in with a big pull of his beer and then said, "The good news is...if we shoot her, she won't get close enough to rip our dicks off."


	10. The Countdown to Number Six

The Countdown to Number Six

Casey woke up on Monday morning with her alarm. She was a little disoriented, finding herself on the couch and all, and she felt surprisingly…alone. She didn't feel the need for a pot of coffee, but she did feel the need for a hot shower. She stood outside of the frosted glass doors as they steamed up, and she let her clothes fall to the white tile floor where they lay in a heap.

She didn't know Megan's number or even her last name. She didn't know where she was staying. She didn't know anything pertinent. She knew the girl left some weird green drink in her refrigerator and left her kitchen immaculate.

She stepped under the water, and thought that perhaps…_perhaps_…this was for the best.

_Perhaps_.

She went about her day. She went to her office and she picked up some files. She went to the hearing. She rested her case before lunch. She felt accomplished. The jury had gone to deliberate, but she was sure she fucking pedophile creeper would be put away for life. All of her hard work over the past week paid off, and she had one less case to worry about.

She pranced back into SVU smiling inappropriately, for a moment forgetting about the serial killing, hot girl, monster thing that her teammates were dealing with.

"Liv," she motioned with her hand, beckoning Detective Benson into her office.

"What's up, Case?"

Casey closed the door and stood between it and the woman. She had every intention of asking her to pull prints off of her fucking stapler to make some attempt to find Megan, but then she realized this was stupid and weird…mostly weird, and then some stupid. In the end, she just stood there with her mouth partially open and making a silly face.

"What do you need, Casey?" Olivia prompted her.

She shook her head, "Sorry…nevermind."

Olivia tilted her head to the side thoughtfully, "Ok, but hey…those FBI agents made a bet about which one you'd go out with first."

She chortled and spat out, "Probably the tall one with the longer hair. He seems smarter, although the other one is ridiculously manly."

"They've got twenty bucks on it, so why don't you go to lunch with one."

Indifferently, she said, "May as well…"

"Maybe this will lighten the mood around here." Olivia tried to be optimistic.

"It's hard to lighten the mood among a bunch of men when there's a serial castrator on the loose."

"This whole thing just keeps getting increasingly bizarre. Agent Todd and Fox's supervisor has flown in. He looks like some sort of backwoods, lumberjack man. Apparently he's been under-cover in South Dakota."

Casey turned and peeked between the blinds on her door, "He looks like Santa."

"I'm surprised the media hasn't gotten wind of this…they usually start screaming serial killer after two somewhat similar murders."

She kept looking through at the bustle outside of her quiet office, "The FBI is probably working to keep it hushed – they don't want panic."

"If the pattern continues, another murder is set to happen tonight."

"Any leads as to who it might be?"

The detective shook her head, "Not even any leads on a suspect except that the first guy and the last guy were seen with a hot girl, who may or may not be a pro. We've got a sketch artist in right now, and Munch and Fin have gone out to some of the known brothels around the hotel, hoping she might be working out of one of them."

"Why would a hooker be killing men, but not taking their money?"

"Sociopath is Huang's best guess."

"Not your run of the mill sociopath though…"

"We're dealing with a highly intelligent sociopath, who probably experienced prolonged abuse, who potentially has access to inside information regarding open rape cases, and…well…unreported rape cases. Maybe someone who works at a rape hotline."

Casey shook her head, "God, I wish people wouldn't take the law into their own hands."

"This killer is getting a sort of justice for people who wouldn't have gotten it…" Olivia still sympathized.

"The law is black and white. Just because someone commits a crime, it doesn't give someone else the right to commit another crime in the name of justice. I'd be out a job too."

She rolled her eyes, "If you say so, Case."

"Yeah…well." She cleared her throat and got up her courage, "Can you dust my stapler for prints."

"Why?"

"Don't ask, just do it…stealth…and let me know what you get back…" She opened the door and slipped out. She made her way to the table around which the FBI agents sat.

Dean kicked back in his chair, "Hello, Casey."

"ADA Novak," she corrected and looked at Bobby. She extended a hand, "And you are?"

"Agent Mackey," he said gruffly and shook her hand.

She smiled and looked back at the brothers, "Have you had lunch yet-"

"No, no I haven't," Dean responded and started to get up.

She finished and looked directly at Sam, "Agent Fox?"

He nearly spilled his cup of coffee and sputtered, "No."

"Well, let's go to lunch." She started out, expecting him to follow.

And Sam followed, but first gave Dean a firm slap in the back of the head.

"What was that?" Bobby asked.

Dean rubbed his skull, "I don't wanna talk about it."

Olivia and Elliot kept their laugher to a minimum, and when Dean turned they immediately silenced themselves and looked down at their desks.

Munch and Fin walked in about then. Fin announced, "Look who we found outside!"

"She's pretty much all we found," Munch mumbled and sat down dejectedly at his desk.

Megan followed them in, carrying a large white bag that smelled of food. Today she wore a tight white, sleeveless dress with an angled hem. Everyone looked at her and she said shyly, "I just brought lunch for Casey…"

"Unfortunately," Dean began bitterly, "ADA Novak went for lunch with my _partner_. You just missed her."

"Oh…" For a split second she was angry, jealous, almost fucking enraged. She gripped the bag, took a deep breath, held it and then said, "Well…does anyone else wanna share this with me?"

"What you got in there anyway, girl?" Fin asked her. He was hungry. "Probably healthy shit."

She shrugged, "It's healthy, but it's good." She sat the bag down on the corner of his desk and looked inside, "I have two Greek salads, one with chicken, one without…some hummus and pita-"

"Hummus is that shit that looks like it's already been chewed – I love that stuff." Fin interrupted her, "How much was it? I'll pay you." He pulled out his wallet.

"You can just have it," she reached in and pulled out the plastic container and the pita triangles that went with it. "No big deal."

"Thanks, Megan."

"If you're giving food away…" Dean got up and approached her

"Here's a wrap," she handed him what looked like a fat burrito covered in tin foil.

"Mr. Munch, you can have this baba ghanoush, if you want," she sat it in front of him. "And here are the salads." She sat the entire bag on Olivia's desk, and then looked at the older man, who was a new addition to the group, "I'm sorry."

He assumed it was regarding her running out of food because she had now given it all away, including what she planned to eat, and he said, "It's ok, little lady."

She smiled and began to back up toward the exit, "I'm gonna go."

No one really argued. Huang came out of the back with Ben Patel, who was the last person to speak with the sketch artist. Huang posted the sketch on the evidence board and thanked Ben for his help. He walked by Megan, stared at her as he passed, and continued on his way.

"I'll let Casey know you came by," Olivia said to her quickly. She felt sort of bad that the girl had brought her lunch and she left with the FBI agent due to her own persuasion.

"Don't worry about it." She looked at the sketch of the hot girl suspect and she looked at Huang, who she had not been introduced to.

He squinted at her and then looked back at the sketch then back at her, then back at the sketch. He waited for her to leave and said, "My God, that girl looks familiar…"

Elliot took a bite of his salad, and shook his fork at the Asian man, "Yeah…she looks like that actress."

"Oh, I know who you're talking about!" He exclaimed as if he won a contest.

"She's Megan. Casey's new temporary assistant girl," Olivia told him.

Bobby got up and took a look at the sketch of the witch. It made him want a beer to wash the taste of disappointment with himself down. He couldn't believe she got away from him all of those years ago. He was young and inexperienced. It wouldn't happen again. He marched into Cragen's office, seeing the lonely old man hang up the phone.

"Captain," he barged in, "I'm going to go get some lunch and a beer. Wanna join me? I'm tired of hanging out with these youngsters."

"I will join you for the lunch, but not the beer."

"Oh, it's the middle of the day, isn't it?" He huffed, "Conventions."

"Not just that, but I've been sober-"

"What the hell for?" Bobby exclaimed, shocked and appalled.

"I…" Cragen began.

"What's that thing I've heard? Quitting is for quitters…or something. Let's go. I'm not a quitter."

"Lunch, but no beer." Cragen stood up and put on his jacket to cover his suspenders.

"How about some whiskey then?"

"No whiskey."

The two men started out, Bobby continued, "Gin?"

"No gin."

"How about bourbon?"

"No bourbon."

Bobby looked at him, "Why don't you grow a beard?"

"I don't…" Cragen looked confusedly at the rugged fellow, "I don't want to grow a beard."

"You can't grow one, can you? Have you tried?"

"What? I don't want to grow a beard. Are you drunk right now?"

"No, I only had one beer with my breakfast."

The two went out the door, continuing their banter.

"So, do you just go by Fox, or should I call you _Agent_ Fox, or do you have a first name that I can call you?" Casey drank her water from a straw with the cup still sitting on the table in front of her.

Sam laughed, "You can call me Amos."

"Amos Fox. That sounds like a fake name."

Sam let out an unintentionally nervous laugh. "So do I still need to call you ADA Novak?"

"No. We're not working, we're at lunch."

"Everyone at work calls you Casey."

"I've known all of them for longer, and we're a team."

"We're part of the team right now."

"No, you're FBI. The FBI isn't so great with teamwork."

"What about Huang?"

"That's totally different."

He crossed his arms, "I don't understand your rules. You have these distinct lines, but vague distinctions."

"No, everything makes sense to me, _Amos_."

"You're one of those people that thinks everything is black and white, aren't you?" Sam hated vague distinctions that somehow led to distinct categories.

Yes, she was, and Olivia had just mentioned this also, "I suppose I am."

"So there's no gray area, _Casey_?"

She shook her head, "There is right and wrong. There's no kind of right sometimes under certain circumstances."

"Based on?"

"The law."

"But what if the law is wrong?"

"Shut up. Subject change." She glared.

"Yes, ma'am. You're one of those girls who needs everything to be your way, aren't you?"

"What are you saying?" She snapped.

He put his hands in the air, surrendering, "Nothing. Subject change."

"I'm really not a bitch."

"And I'm really not an FBI agent."

They laughed. They ordered their food and proceeded to somehow talk about their failed relationships and their lack of relationships currently, and whether or not this was all for the best or not considering their lines of work. Sam revealed that he had planned to go to Law School before going into the FBI. Casey revealed that she had wanted to be a meteorologist. Sam shared some feelings, and Casey shared no feelings. If Dean were smarter and a girl, he might be Casey, and soon their chatter turned into something like the repartee between the brothers.

"You're sort of gay," Casey said, chomping on a French fry.

"I'm not gay," he got all flustered and retorted, "You're, like, totally a man-hating lesbian."

"That's not even close to true."

"You're all mean and uptight and a control-freak because you never get laid."

"_I_ get laid plenty. You're the one with all sorts of feelings interfering with your life."

"Vibrators don't count," he muttered, "And my feelings…" He had nothing to say about his own feelings now.

"You're gay with your partner."

"No, he's not…no! Just no!" He slammed a fist on the table. If only it were the first time he'd heard that.

They laughed together again.

"You're…a…jackass," Casey got out between chuckles.

"You need to spend more time with Agent Todd then."

"I suspected you were the nicer one."

"I definitely am."

She let out a snort, and pointed at him, "I can't believe you made a bet with him about _me_."

"Oh…about that…" He couldn't tell if she was mad or not.

She winked, and got up from the table, "You better buy something good with that twenty bucks I won you. There are no secrets between all of us lonely twats in SVU. Liv told me."

From talking to a buttload of hookers, Munch and Fin found that Hardy had refused to pay several of them and raped them. Of course, none of the women came forward because they're hookers. This helped to cement that the killer was a sort of vigilante, but didn't help at all in predicting her next victim. No one matching the girl's description worked for any of the madams they two detectives talked to, and none of them seemed to know who she was.

The atmosphere of SVU became increasingly chaotic and at the same time solemn as the day wore on. Huang insisted that the perp would slip up _eventually_ and leave some sort of DNA evidence, which would still only be useful if her DNA existed on file somewhere. Huang was, of course, quite certain that their vigilante sociopath had to have committed some sort of prior crimes to perfect her art.

Bobby and the Winchesters knew she wouldn't slip up, and that she only had two victims left. They were running out of time for Poor Bastard Number Six and also running of time to catch this witch until another twenty-five years passed.

Every lead was followed, even the most insignificant ones.

And then shit hit the fan at six o'clock…

"Get in here!" Cragen screamed, prompting everyone into his office.

They all hustled, even the hunters disgusted as FBI agents.

They gathered around the television in his office, and watched as the reporter described Hardy's death to the public in gruesome detail, and then proceeded to _speculate_ that it was related to the other four recent deaths. Cragen was absolutely livid, and wouldn't let anyone go home, not even Casey. He couldn't stop the FBI from coming as going as they pleased though.

At nine, Casey convinced him that she wasn't useful, and Liv stopped her on her way out saying, "Your little assistant stopped by with lunch for you today."

"Oh…" she was surprised and surprisingly disappointed that she missed her, but she didn't reveal this.

"I'll check out your stapler as soon as Cragen stops hovering…" she whispered to her friend.

What she found late that night wasn't very interesting, and she couldn't understand why Casey wanted it done at all. There were no prints on the stapler other than the attorney's. None. For all intents and purposes, it seemed no one else had touched it.


	11. Another One Bites the Dust

_**A/N: **I was asked last night why I used the names Todd and Fox for Sam and Dean when they always choose, you know, classic rock-related names for their aliases. What had happened was...I was lacking in internet at that particular time, so I couldn't look up a more correct pair of names, so I proceeded to make a vague Disney reference, and I had intended to go back and change it. Then due to nothing less than laziness, I didn't. If anyone else was wondering about this decision of mine...!_

Another One Bites the Dust

"We're a damn bunch of morons!" Bobby all but shouted at the top of his lungs, and he got to his feet. He even put down his beer on the table where he had been reading in the hotel room.

"Huh?" Both brothers responded.

"We forgot about one of the most famous damn witches in history!"

"Who?" Questioned Sam.

"Fucking Circe!"

"From _The Odyssey_?" The more well read Winchester asked for clarification.

Bobby twitched from excitement, "Damn right!"

"Is that a book?" Asked Dean.

They ignored his question and Sam said, "She turned men into pigs…"

"Man-bacon!" Dean exclaimed.

"I think she's grown out of turning men into animals now, but she seduced them, and she wanted to take Odysseus' _manhood_…" Bobby continued, "But…"

"Penis!" Dean exclaimed again.

Sam, excited that they had reached this conclusion finished where Bobby left off, "Hermes gave him a magic root to render her powerless."

"And what root was it?" Bobby prompted him.

"Moly."

"What the hell is moly?" Dean wondered aloud.

"Garlic!" Sam bellowed.

"Hm," Dean was impressed, but he had some misgivings, "Now that we know who we're hunting, how do we figure out _who_ she is so we can hit her with garlic? I don't know if you noticed, but there are a lot of hot women in this city. There are hot women all over the police station, in fact…"

"That's a good observation, Dean." Bobby rubbed his beard, thinking hard.

"Yeah…how do we do it before she kills her sixth? If she hasn't already…" Sam sighed.

Bobby adjusted his hat, "That's a good question, but we need to keep garlic on us at all times, so that none of her powers affect us. I'm pretty sure she has some sort of mind-control abilities or something. She's one tricky bitch, boys."

Several hours earlier, the girl's dress whipped around her body as she stood on the soft green grass. She watched a thin man, who watched the little boys playing soccer on a field. He stood alone and away from the parents and normal spectators. She listened closely to what he was thinking, and he had acted on his feelings before. He relived these moments, and put his hands in his pockets to casually stroke his cock through the fabric as he looked at the boys.

She gnawed her bottom lip and let tears well up in her eyes. She was only a little hungry. She could stop and she could let this one go. She _could_, but she was admittedly a little hungry, and the feeling ate away at her stomach. She was nearly at her full power, and fuck…she really _wanted_ to kill this son of a bitch. He was a pig if there ever was one.

She approached the man. Some people looked and did double takes. They wondered why a babe like her would be coming up to a creeper like that guy, but they said nothing, as it wasn't their business. The man though, he looked through his glasses and scratched at his left nipple through his sweater…he saw a little boy with shaggy brown hair, about ten years old. He wasn't interested in women, especially one as old as twenty-five.

"Mister…I lost my dog and he ran into the woods…can you help me find him?" She wiped her snotty nose and sniffled.

"Of course!" He jumped on it eagerly and rubbed his mustache excitedly. It was as if God smiled on him and sent him this prize, "My name is Manny."

"I'm Derek and my dog's name is Buster…he's a black lab…" she smiled a little through her tears and started to lead the way. She pointed, "He ran off over here…I keep calling him, and…and he won't come back…"

Manny and the girl started down the trail and then veered off in the direction the dog supposedly went. The sounds of the soccer game became more and more faint and the light faded as the sun set. They both called the dog's name and whistled.

Manny didn't ask any questions until they stopped in a clearing and said, "Wanna play a game?"

"I wanna find Buster…"

"I'll help you find him, I promise, but I wanna play a game first." He unzipped his pants, and let his dick just flop out like the lump of skin that it was.

This fucker didn't waste any time. He saw the little boy blink away some tears and just stare at him.

He said, "Come here, and touch this and we'll find Buster."

"I…I don't want to…" She protested in a quiet, frightened voice.

"If you don't do it, I won't help you, and we'll _never_ find Buster."

She nodded reluctantly and approached. She extended her arm, "Are you sure you want me to touch it?"

He nodded, "It'll be fun."

"What'll happen?" She asked in a curious voice, her tears drying.

"Nothing. It'll get excited and stand up. That's the game. You need to make it stand up. You can kiss it too, if you want."

"Are you sure?" The man saw the little boy look up into his eyes. The boy had the most beautiful blue eyes.

He nodded again, "See how fast you can make it stand up, Derek."

"Then we'll find Buster?"

"I promise." He grinned, and exposed his crooked teeth.

She reached out and poked the appendage with one finger then with two. Birds began to chirp and squawk loudly in the trees. The bushes rustled, but Manny didn't seem to notice. She smiled and watched Manny lean his head back and begin to breathe heavily from the excitement. She grabbed his dick in her whole hand, and she pulled.

"Not so hard, Derek…use your little hands…" Manny sighed and he looked down. He didn't see Derek anymore. "What the fuck?"

She smiled and licked her lips, "I found Buster…"

He heard a deep canine growl behind him, and he went to turn, but she latched onto his penis and held him in place. He squirmed and he pulled, but she didn't let go. He wanted to hit her, but his arms were limp at his sides. She saw fear in his eyes, and she laughed a little, sadistically. With one firm jerk, she tore off his cock and he opened his mouth to scream, but no sounds came out. The blood began to pour and she grabbed his sweater with her left hand, throwing him to the ground as if she were a three hundred pound linebacker and not a skinny girl _or_ a ten-year-old boy for that matter.

"Thanks for your help. It was nice to meet you. Go home now, Buster…" She said kindly to the dog that watched and wagged his tail, "I don't watch you eat."

He whimpered once before turning and trotting back toward the sounds of the soccer game where had legitimately run off from.

"That Megan girl…" Bobby started. He didn't seem to have a full thought formed and his voice trailed off.

"She's hot," Dean said, taking a swig of beer as he tucked a cloves of garlic into his pants pockets and in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and the brown leather one he wore.

"No way…" Sam mumbled, guessing at the thought that Bobby toyed with in his mind.

"What?" Dean tossed the head of garlic to his brother.

"She's _hot_…" Bobby repeated what Dean said, "And she pretty much fits the description of the girl seen with the first guy and the last one."

"No!" Protested Dean, "She's nice! She gave me a wrap!"

"I've never seen you be hesitant about killing anyone, even if they're hot," Sam pointed out. "All it takes it a wrap?"

"I just don't think she's Circe. She's nice and doesn't hate men."

"She's manipulative…maybe this is all part of some master plan she's cooked up, but there's only one way to find out…" Bobby murmured, taking some garlic for himself.

"I'm not shooting her until I know for sure she's a witch," the older Winchester crossed his arms stubbornly.

Sam played with a clove in his hand, shuffling it between his fingers, "Why would she lurk around the place where everyone is looking for her?"

"And why didn't fucking Ben Patel recognize her on his way out? She was there when he left. He fucking recognized me the other day." Dean felt his temper rising.

Scratching his beard thoughtfully, Bobby pondered, "I'm telling you…Circe can do some mind-control shit…"

"But she can't get us now because we have garlic," Sam put the little white wedge into his suit jacket.

"Exactly, or at least hopefully." The older man shook his head, "I figure she's already gotten her next man by now…so let's see if she comes in tomorrow."

"Why does she keep coming back and just pushing her luck like this?" Dean still wasn't convinced it was Megan.

"Arrogance, maybe?" Sam suggested.

"Or she wants to get caught…" Dean looked into his beer bottle and swirled what was left of the liquid.

Bobby murmured, "If the real cops catch her, she'll be under lock and key, and _we_ won't be able to get her."

Megan felt great. She had only been a little hungry, but still. She rocked back and forth on her tall pink heels and grinned childishly as she pressed the button for Casey's apartment. She held a bunch of stuff behind her back, which included a small animal carrier, and now wore a silky pink dress.

"Who is it?" Casey asked through the speaker.

"Megan."

"Come on up." She buzzed her in.

She made her way up to Casey's and sat down all of her mysterious items outside of the door before she opened it. She found Casey kicked back on her couch, watching TV and eating some of the leftover salad. She said, "I brought you something."

Casey looked at her, surprised. "I heard you stopped by with lunch for me too…"

"Yeah…I told Detective Benson not to bother telling you. It was no big deal."

"What'd you bring me?" The redhead had put her hair up in a messy bun and shoveled another bite of dressing soaked greens into her mouth.

"Well…um…" She reached around the corner and grasped the handle of the carrier, setting it inside the door.

Casey heard a shrill mew, and preceded to exclaim through her mouthful of salad, "Fuck you!"

Megan smiled, and opened the top to grab the tiny black kitten. It was still in that awkward phase, where its paws were too big and it always looked confused. It had bright yellow eyes and mewed again, flailing a little. She sat him down on Casey's wooden floor, "It's a little boy…since you like men, and all."

"Fuck you!" Casey said again, but there wasn't the slightest indication of anger in her voice. She sat down her bowl of salad and watched at the kitten clumsily scurried for her legs.

It mewed again.

"I got you everything you need…like a whole kitten starter kit." She brought in the other bags, "You've got lots of kitten food, a litter box, litter, toys…everything."

Casey picked the little guy up and sat him on her lap, smiling and doting on him. She didn't even look up as she said, "I told you I don't have time for a cat!"

"Shut up. Just love him extra when you're here. I promise he won't tear up your curtains." Megan sat down beside her.

"You can't make promises like that."

"I can. We had a conversation on the way over here and I told him not to."

Casey laughed and looked up, shaking her head, "You're so fucking ridiculous."

She winked and leaned back, feeling quite accomplished, and also very full.

Scratching under the nameless kitten's chin, Casey asked, "What's your last name?"

"Oh, shit…I never told you, did I?" Megan laughed, "It's Woolfe."

"Megan Woolfe. Good to know."

"I'm sorry about that."

Casey picked up the kitten and held him high like the monkey did with Simba in _The Lion King_."It's ok. Can I get your number before I forget?"

"I don't have a phone."

"What the hell?" She looked at her in disbelief, "What girl your age doesn't have a phone."

"Just me probably. I like to be able to disappear."

Bringing the kitten back down to her lap, she said, "Because you're solitary and you hate people. Got it. How am I supposed to contact you?"

"You're not. I've still got your card. I can call you from a pay phone."

"God, you're weird."

"Why would you need to contact me?"

She shrugged, "What if I need you? For like…cat sitting or a foot massage…or something?"

"You can't control me, Casey!" She said jokingly, "I'm a free spirit and I do things because I want to."

"Shut the fuck up." She hadn't stopped smiling since she laid eyes on the kitten, and she patted him some more, "I think your name is…Cole, as in Nat King."

Megan laughed, "Not like the fossil fuel because he's black?"

"No."

"Yay for homonyms."

"Let's go get all of his stuff set up," she sat him on the floor and smacked Megan in the arm with the back of her hand.

They got up and Megan said, "Sorry he's not very ugly, but I expect you to get him lithographed onto a coffee mug."


	12. Holy Moly

_**A/N: **So...I discovered that whenever I upload my chapters, my tildas disappear. Apparently eats tildas now (it didn't used to...back in the day), and this makes me unhappy because I use them for page breaks, you know, when the scene changes, or time passes. I have now inserted elipses in the appropriate places, and I apologize for any confusion that my disappearing tildas may have caused._

Holy Moly!

"Another body? How many is this? Someone remind me." Detective Munch asked from his desk, massaging his temples. He couldn't hide the bags under his eyes today, since it was just after six in the morning when he had been called in. A jogger found this one.

"Six." Olivia Benson hustled by and dropped a folder onto his desk, "And showing so signs of stopping."

"Six people in twelve days. Can you fucking believe it?" Detective Stabler wielded cups of coffee for everyone skillfully. They knew this would happen, but everyone hoped it wouldn't, so it was still a frustrating surprise of sorts. They hoped it would just stop.

Fin groaned, looking at the board. They had just added a new victim's picture. "There's no pattern. There's no damn pattern, except that it's been one man every other day."

"Copycat?" Cragen asked, "Since the fucking press leaked the MO yesterday?"

"Best copycat, I've ever seen. Not a single clue…not a single shard of any sort of evidence that we can use…again…nothing." Stabler crossed his arms, "Not a hair, not a fingernail, nothing. These fucking guys don't put up a fight."

"Who was this guy?" Cragen nodded to the board, referring to the most recent vic.

"Manny Lopez…got lucky with some stocks a while back…retired early…age forty-two…" Olivia rattled off the facts from memory already, "Lived alone, no family, no friends, kind of a creeper."

"Fin, Munch," Cragen barked, "Go talk to someone…see if he was seen with this girl," he pointed to the board.

"Where did the sketch go?" Munch asked, being the first to notice it was gone.

Cragen looked, "Where the hell _did_ it go?"

"Where the hell are our FBI agents?" Olivia asked, "Maybe they took it? They like to take things and haven't shown up yet."

Fin snatched up that sleek black leather jacket from his chair and headed out the door, followed by a rather sluggish John Munch, who clutched his coffee tightly.

Dr. Huang stood in the background, gripping his briefcase and shaking his head, "I have never seen anything like this. There's so much rage and the rage just keeps growing, but the perp still isn't slipping up. I'm impressed…"

"You and me both," Elliot mumbled, "In the most disgusted way."

"Me, three." Olivia added.

Cragen still stood in front of the board, "Immaculately clean, aside from blood that all belongs to the victim. The victims have been between twenty-four and sixty-six and spread out all over the city." He listed what he knew, hoping to discover some missing piece of information. "We've got a serial killer, with no pattern, but an unmistakable calling card, who isn't deviating, who…"

"She'll get careless eventually…" Huang sighed.

"How many more people have to die before that happens?" Elliot asked. "_And_ are we sure it's a she?" Elliot kept pressing this today. "None of the vics have showed any signs of restraint and their tox screens have come back clean aside from the normal. How could a girl pull this off? Really?"

"Maybe she's a big girl, El." His partner shook her head, "You want this to be somehow homosexual, don't you?"

He shot her a glare, "No. No, I don't, Liv. I just don't get it, and the perp is ripping off their dicks and shoving them down their throat. Now whoever it is…is fucking…ripping off their balls, and this fucking guy had his face pounded in with a ten-pound rock. What girl could do that? It'd have to be a dude, a big dude, and that's pretty homo."

"The perp has to have been a victim and has this _rage_ against men. He or she _hates_ men. He or she is very strong and a control-freak to be so careful and clean." Huang said what he had already said.

"Maybe we're looking for a big lesbian?" Elliot theorized to appease those who were sure it was this slim _hot girl_ was the perp. He banged his fist on his desk, shaking his computer.

"The media is all over this! It's national news as of now and we look incompetent! At least the FBI is already here, for God's sake! You two go do something! Go back to the scene and comb it again! Find a footprint or a fucking fiber!" Cragen shouted while storming to his office. He didn't even look at anyone as he talked, and when he reached his destination he entered and slammed the door.

Benson and Stabler both shrugged at one another and headed for the door to return to the horrific scene that had only recently left, but they knew they wouldn't find anything. Cragen worn down to his last nerve, and could explode at any moment.

…

In their hotel room, the Winchesters and Bobby prepared themselves to venture into SVU. With the attacks on the news now, the _real_ FBI would probably be showing up and then their cover would be blown. They were under even more pressure now to do their job and get out of town.

Dean straightened his tie in the mirror as Sam and Bobby watched the news broadcast about victim number six.

"That guy looks like a molester," Sam bent down to tie his shoes, but made the quick judgment about the latest victim when they put up his picture.

"Probably was," Bobby commented, "He was even killed near a soccer field where kids were playing last night."

Sam asked, "How would our hot witch manage to seduce a man who likes kids?"

"Fucking mind control, Sammy – the scariest kind. She makes you see what you want," Bobby answered him.

Dean came from the bathroom and said, "If Megan doesn't show up today, I'll ask Casey about her."

"No, I'll ask Casey." Sam protested.

"No, I will."

"She likes me more."

"Shut up and _I'll_ ask her," Bobby snapped. "Hopefully the girl will show up again today and it won't come to that. We'll get her from view, put a bullet in her head and then get away from this damn city."

"Everyone got your garlic?" Dean asked.

Sam seemed unenthusiastic about killing Megan. Internally, he was conflicted. If Megan did somehow turn out to be Circe, they could get the job done and go before they ended up caught themselves or worse. He didn't mind taking out ghosts or killing vampires or demons, who were assholes, but this…this was a hot girl who was only hurting bad people. The bad people were people too though. He and Dean killed people, but only bad people…

Casey walked into work a bit later that morning. She made lunch plans with Megan before the girl scurried off into the darkness the night before. She'd forgotten about her odd request of Olivia, but remembered as soon as she saw the manila folder on her desk. She didn't really expect anything _bad_ to come up with Megan's prints and it didn't matter now, since she knew her last name and all. No way Megan had a criminal record. She was probably fingerprinted for some of her jobs though…anyway, it didn't matter, she thought.

She sat down her briefcase and opened the folder anyway. She looked at the paper and then looked at it again. She read it over at least five times, trying to make sense of it.

"What the…" She started to mutter, but then she realized that maybe Megan didn't even touch her stapler. She should have had Olivia fingerprint something else, but…but she _did_ touch the stapler. She stapled lots of things, Casey was sure.

As she ran over the facts in her head, Olivia knocked lightly and came in, "Did you get-"

"Yeah…" Casey knew she referred to the paper she held onto.

"Do you mind if I ask why you had me do that?" Olivia shut the door behind her, "You've been working a lot the past few weeks, I think you're sort of…going crazy. Cragen is also going crazy, but that's completely different."

She laughed a little, "No…no, I was trying to…nothing. It's not important. There's important stuff going on. It was silly. Get back out there and catch the serial killer."

"Casey, I think you need to take a mental health day, not just a day off."

"So do you," she put the paper away and shoved the entire folder underneath some other documents.

"As soon as we catch this perp, you need to come out for drinks with us."

"I will," Casey sat down and attempted to portray that she was finished talking.

"I guess I'll get back to work…we found another body this morning and all."

Casey nodded. She wanted to tell her friend that she got a kitten, but it didn't seem to be the appropriate time. Maybe she did need a mental health day or five – a whole vacation. Olivia left, and then she started preparing another argument for a case that would be open and shut.

…

Sam, Dean, and Bobby came in short after Casey and pretended to jump into the flow of things, but mostly they were waiting around to see if Megan showed up to test their theory. They sat around their make shift desk near the board and tried to look like they were doing things.

Olivia crept up on them, "Did you guys take the sketch artist's picture?"

They all looked at her blankly.

"I'll take that as a no…"

"Aren't there more copies?" Dean asked her.

"Yeah, but we can't find those either. Everything here is a shitshow right now." She put her hands on her hips.

The FBI agents just looked at her.

"Did I interrupt something?" She asked inquisitively.

"We're having deep thoughts," Dean answered.

"Right. Ok. Well…I'm going to look for everything that's missing." She turned and left them.

Dean leaned forward and whispered, "Do you think Megan could have ganked all of the stuff that's missing when no one was looking?"

"Hell, I think she may have done it when everyone was looking." Bobby answered.

"I hope this garlic business actually works. Do we need some sort of plan?" Sam grew worried and nervous as the moments passed.

"Grab her. Shoot her. Leave in a hurry." Dean looked at him, not understand the source of his concern.

"Who are we shootin'?" Fin asked, overhearing their conversation.

"No one. I was telling that joke about the panda." Answered Dean.

Fin raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you told it right…"

"He never tells it right," said Sam forced a laugh.

Fin looked at them and said seriously, "No, really. Who are we shootin'?"

Bobby let out a chuckle and leaned back in his chair, "Megan."

Fin paused for a second and he too laughed, finding Bobby's answer very funny, "Why are we shootin' the hummus girl?"

"We think she's the serial killer," Bobby said, still laughing.

"Get outta town, you're crazy," Fin blew him off and went back to his own desk.

Munch announced from his desk, "Just got a call from one of the parents at the soccer game…said a hot girl walked off with the vic."

Elliot sat up straight, "Same hot girl?"

"They said she was a ten and this guy was a two, which seems about right. They didn't know why she'd be with him, and they said she was wearing a white dress."

"Megan was wearing a white dress yesterday," Sam recalled, and shared it only with the group.

"If she's the killer, how the hell did she kill him in a white dress with all of the damn mess she made all over the damn woods and then walk the hell out of the damn woods and no one notice?" Rambled Fin.

"Maybe she has an accomplice?" Elliot tossed out, "Probably a strong man."

Megan walked into SVU at that moment like she belonged there. She started to traipse through paying no mind to anyone. No one seemed to notice her today, except the three fake FBI men. She wore rather drab clothes, nothing special, a t-shirt and jeans. She seemed uncomfortable and she looked toward the Winchesters and Bobby. She walked slowed, and as she got closer, she seized up. She coughed once, and in the next moment, she covered her nose and mouth and tried to walk across the room to Casey's office as unobtrusively as possible. She looked out of the corner of her eye as the hunters watched her.  
"You ok?" Elliot asked, noticing her then as well.

She nodded and said through her hand, "I think I inhaled some dust or something."

"She's our girl…" Sam whispered, reluctantly. He didn't even want to say it, and at this point he was stating the obvious.

"Might be a coincidence," said Dean.

"No such thing as a coincidences." Bobby told him, "You know that."

Sam started to say between his teeth, "Never have I seen you have qualms-"

"You're usually the one with the fucking qualms," Dean hissed back.

"What are you guys whispering about over here? Is it a secret FBI meeting?" Munch asked them, standing over them with a fresh cup of coffee, rewarding himself for taking the phone call, linking another victim.

They all looked at him, and Dean was the first to respond with, "Yes."

"You all know something we don't know?"

"Yes," answered Bobby.

"Damn conspiracies," the detective wandered back to his desk, and Megan took cover in Casey's office.

"You ok?" Casey asked, looking up.

Megan took a moment to catch her breath. She looked angry, "Yeah…I just…I got something caught in my throat."

"Ready to go to lunch?"

Her breathing still seemed labored, and she looked a bit pale. She said, "I don't feel very well…"

"Oh…I'll go get you something if you want. You can lay on my couch. That's what it's for…well…it's for me to sleep on when I don't go home, but still…"

"No." She answered immediately, "Don't go anywhere. Just stay."

"I have a trial in a little bit…"

Megan shivered, "Shit."

"Are you sure you're ok?" Casey had completely looked away from her work.

"Yeah…" she insisted, "Can you give me a ride somewhere?"

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"I really don't-"

Megan looked at her and pleaded with her eyes only, "Casey."

She gave in, and reached into her briefcase to grab her car keys, "Let's go."

"Wait a minute," she finally sat on the couch.

"Is something wrong?"

"I just don't feel well, that's all." Megan rubbed her head and her eyes as well as her throat, and sat quietly for a few minutes just staring down at her feet. She had started to sweat.

"You're in a damn police station, and I can get help if you need help…"

"Why are you insisting that I need help? I don't. I'm fine. It's all fine." Megan legitimately snapped at Casey for the first time, but she recoiled quickly, "Sorry…"

"Where do you need to go?"

"A few blocks up to the subway. I can't walk there, that's all."

"Do you want some water or something?"

She shook her head and stood up, shakily. The two walked out and she kept close to Casey. She kept Casey between her and the Winchesters who still watched her like a hawk. They whispered among themselves, but didn't take their eyes off of her. She watched as Dean stood, and she kept walking. She nudged Casey with her shoulder until she picked up the pace. Once outside she hustled to Casey's car.

The lawyer looked at her confusedly, and before she could say anything, Megan said, "Can you please hurry?"

Casey unlocked the car and the two got in, "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I can't."

"Why can't you?"

She put on her seatbelt and watched the doors they had just come out of, "I just can't. You don't want to know."

"But I do," she insisted.

Megan looked at her as they pulled away. She began to feel better and the color came back to her face, "Why?"

"Because," was all Casey managed to say before she gave up the argument. It wasn't like Casey to give up an argument. It wasn't like Casey to ever back down, but she did this time. "Did you staple anything the day you were working in my office?"

"Yeah. Why?"


	13. A Shotgun

A Shotgun

Dean, Bobby, and Sam got up, in that order, as soon as Casey and Megan reached the door.

"Clever, bitch…" Bobby groaned, "Taking the lawyer."

The three started out. They moved rapidly, but attempted to look as casual as they could. No need to attract attention from the detectives or anything.

"Where they going?" Olivia noticed the group movement of the FBI.

Elliot shrugged, and Munch asked them as they passed, "What's going on?"

"Secret FBI stuff," Sam said.

The detectives all watched them go, and Fin said, "I think they're goin' to shoot Megan…"

"Huh?" Questioned Elliot.

"Anybody notice the resemblance between our hot girl seen with the vics and Megan?" Munch asked the entire group.

"Why the hell would Casey let some girl she didn't check out into fuckin' headquarters in the middle of a huge investigation like this?" Fin stuck up for her.

"Could she have stolen the stuff we're missing?" Olivia asked then, "We gave copies of the crime scene photos and Warner's reports to Fox and Todd, but the originals are missing…"

"And the sketches…" Munch pointed out.

"Come on, the girl hasn't been snooping at all." Elliot put in his two cents, "She stays in Casey's office and goes straight out. Plus, she can't be a killer. Have you all not actually seen her?"

Detective Tutuola got up, "I think those guys are onto somethin' that they ain't sharin' though, for sure."

"Where do you think you're going?" His partner asked.

"I'm goin' to find out what they're up to."

"I'd rather not get in the way of the FBI…" Munch began. He sighed and stood up, "But I don't think they're FBI."

"Sweet baby Jesus shit!" Huang came running from somewhere. He seemed to just appear after his bizarre exclamation.

Munch put on his jacket and was the first to say, "That was sort of offensive, Huang…and I'm a Jew."

The diminutive Asian fellow waved a sheet of paper, "Not FBI!"

"Who?" Elliot asked.

Huang shoved the paper in his face, "Them!"

"Shit…" Elliot let the sheet fall from his hands and stood up immediately, running for the door, "Stop them!"

Olivia glanced at the paper and shouted, "Holy shit! The fucking Winchesters! I knew I saw their faces somewhere!"

"The killers, who are leaving a trail of destruction and crime in their wake?" Munch asked. He always kept up with such things.

"I knew they looked familiar too!" Huang said, frantically, "Where did they go?"

"I think they've fuckin' gone to shoot Megan! For real!" Fin was out the door next and on Elliot's heels.

"And Casey…" Olivia muttered, and she and Munch followed.

The spell had worn off. The show was over.

"They're getting in Casey's damn car." Dean hissed, and then commanded, "To the Impala!"

It was parked further up the block, and they got in as Casey and Megan pulled away. Bobby sat in the middle of back and asked, "Where are they going?"

No one answered. They pulled out of the spot where they had parallel parked and the SVU detectives ran outside to see them driving away. Sam happened to glance in the passenger side mirror, and said quietly, "Look behind us…"

Bobby turned and looked out of the rear window, "Well…shit."

Dean said as he tried to tail Casey without looking like he was, "Are they following us?"

The older man kept an eye out the back, and Sam pulled a revolver from the glove compartment. He loaded it. He already had a handgun inside of his jacket, but it's always good to have a backup gun when trying to kill someone.

"Let's avoid shooting cops, boys. It looks like the black guy and the old guy are following us, and it looks like they're being stealth about it."

"Fuck…they're following us following their damn killer, and they don't even know it," Dean grumbled. "Why do these things happen to us?"

"Is there any way they'd believe us?" Sam wondered, optimistically.

"Probably not." Dean didn't break it to him gently.

"Not even Munch?"

"Probably not," his brother said again.

Bobby continued to watch out of the back, "Hardly anyone'll ever believe you, Sam. You're going to be labeled a crazy, and that's about it. You gotta remember that."

Casey and Megan rode in silence and Casey pulled over to let Megan out near the subway. Megan started to get out and Casey grabbed her wrist, "If you need anything, just call me…you still have my card, right?"

She nodded and pulled away, getting out of the car, "Don't worry about me," she said before closing the door, "Really."

She didn't look back and made a b-line for the subway stairs. She knew the hunters weren't far behind, and she needed to get as far away as possible and as fast as possible. She needed to hide. She needed to stop ruining lives.

As soon as Dean saw her get out of the car, he pulled over into the first open space on the side of the street. It was broad daylight, but this had to be done. They all got out of the car and first Dean threw some coins into the meter then popped the trunk. Sam had already begun to run up the block toward Megan, wielding his gun in front of him and his fake FBI badge in his other hand. Dean grabbed a shotgun and Bobby reached in for a rifle, heavier artillery.

Megan dashed down the stairs into the subway. She needed a train, any train.

As Casey started to go around the block to turn around, she saw the FBI agents running with guns drawn, and the manly one…had a shotgun? She did a double take and noticed that the old guy had some sort of semi-automatic. What strange guns for the FBI to carry.

She grabbed her phone and speed-dialed Olivia's cell.

Detective Benson answered, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Does the FBI have something? They were just running down the sidewalk waving guns around."

Olivia let out a sigh of relief, "They're not FBI, we've been fucking had."

"What?"

"Munch and Fin are on them, and we've got squad cars on the way. Get back here and I'll explain. Is Megan with you?"

"No…I…I let her out at the subway. What's going on?" This was all very confusing, and very sudden, and suddenly confusing.

…

"What the hell?" Fin muttered as they passed people scattering in the street, and saw Dean with his shotgun, running at full speed. "Let me outta the damn car!"

Munch slammed on his breaks, and Fin pulled his own handgun from his jacket and hit the ground running, chasing after Sam, Dean, and Bobby.

Sam was out in front with his long strides, yelling as he ran down into the subway, "FBI! Get out of the way!"

Wearing his badge around his neck, Fin also shouted, "Police! Move!"

People were everywhere. They parted. They ran. They screamed. Megan tried to take advantage of the chaos, but there was nowhere for her to go. She ran toward a platform to find the most recent train's doors closing. She looked around and saw only bodies in her way. She ran for another platform where a group waited.

"Excuse me…sorry…" she tried to be polite as she pushed her way through and ducked behind them. She stuck to the wall and made her way further down. She didn't have a plan. She didn't know where she was going. It was a dead end.

"Move! Let me through! FBI!" Sam yelled, and he flashed his badge before jumping the barrier into the underground transit world.

"Fucking FBI!" Dean yelled afterward, brandishing his larger gun.

She stopped. She had nowhere else to go. She was cornered. She saw the people part and run. Some linger to watch, to see what was going on, but Bobby waved his gun at them and said something. They went on their way.

Dean and Sam closed in, and she put up her hands. She smiled as the color drained from her face.

"Don't try that, honey. We're not falling for it anymore," Dean told her and aimed the shotgun directly at her.

She coughed a bit and the color drained from her face even more. She took a step back, "Just wait a minute. You've figured me out, but…but you've been figured out too, and Mr. Tutuola is fast approaching with his gun drawn just as well…"

Bobby turned his gun on her, "Shut up, Circe. You got away from me once, and you won't this time."

"Bobby, I'm sorry. I already apologized…" She took another step back and her knees began to tremble. She kept her hands in the air and she made no other moves. Her knees seemed to be buckling a little.

Bobby recalled the apology, and started to put his gun down, fascinated.

"What're you doing?" Dean yelled at him.

The older man aimed his gun at her again. He hated to admit it, but he was curious about her powers and her magic.

"Dean, we're a lot alike…we both lead the loneliest fucking lives…we kill to survive…" She spoke gently to him.

"I'm not a monster."

"Some would beg to differ."

"She has a point," Sam began.

"Shut up!" Dean commanded.

Her eyes shifted to Sam then, "Do you know who made you find that wanted poster in SVU?"

The younger Winchester stared into her eyes and lowered his weapon, "How?"

"Illusions, Sammy…" She whispered, "I fucked with your reality."

"Told you I didn't dial my phone with my ass," Bobby said under his breath, and then asked her, "Are you a Trickster?"

"No, I'm not a god damn Trickster." She seemed offended.

"Why would you do that?" Dean asked, and he didn't lower his gun at all.

"I identify with you, whether you do with me or not…I think you're doing good, even if you do want to kill me. I can get you all out of here, you know…but not if you shoot me."

"How'd you do it? Making Sam think I called him?" Bobby asked then.

"You had it right…the mind-control. I can hear thoughts and see into the souls of men…" Her voice became more seductive, soothing, "I know intentions, and I can put thoughts in, I can make people see exactly what they want to see, or I can make them want to see what I want them to see."

Bobby was impressed and he forced himself to hold his gun steadily in place, "So you're like a Trickster…"

"I am not like a Trickster. _Do not_ say that again. Tricksters fucking bastards. I'm a demigod, who happens to be well versed in potions and some ancient fucking magic – that's all."

"How do you never leave fingerprints?" He asked.

She rolled her eyes, "I'm fucking magic. I never leave a single trace that I ever existed anywhere I go. It's survival, you idiots. I'm stronger than you could ever even imagine. All of my gods are dead, but I've survived."

"Are you putting thoughts in our heads now?" Sam questioned, curiously. He had thoughts in his head. He didn't want to kill her. He wanted to let her go, very much, but his big brother wouldn't allow that.

"What? No." She laughed slightly, "Just in the normal way with my words. You jackasses all have garlic on you, so I can't get in your heads because I can't fucking concentrate because that shit wreaks."

"Damn right," Dean growled.

"But…" She teased.

Sam just couldn't shut up, "But what?"

Dean grew increasingly enraged and said, "Stop talking, Sam."

She answered him very softly, "But I still have lots of other powers."

In the next second the tide turned. Circe, also known as Megan, lunged at Agent Todd, also known as Dean. Her strength was astounding and she tried to wrestle the gun from his hands, but he held on tightly, and her eyes were starting to water. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She sat on top of him, and soon Bobby and Dean pointed their guns at her. She made sure to wriggle and tussle with Dean in such a way to make her a hard shot.

"Fucking garlic!" She hissed, "How much is on you?"

With a valiant shove, Dean knocked her in the side of the face with the butt of his shotgun. She wasn't phased in the slightest although a cut opened up just below her left eye. Bobby gave her a swift kick to her ribs, knocking her balance off just slightly. It was long enough for Dean to take another swing at her face, hitting her in the mouth, and knocking her off of him completely.

"Shoot me. Fucking shoot me, boys," she scrambled to her feet and spit out some blood onto the concrete, "You guys must be fucking loaded with garlic." She wiped her bloodied lip with the back of her hand.

No one made any move to shoot her. Everyone seemed to think someone else would fire the fatal shot. She flicked her wrist and all three men went flying to her left and into a solid bench. She laughed a little, as Dean got to his feet, still holding on tightly to his shotgun.

"A lot of garlic, but not enough to render me completely fucking powerless…just enough to make me _really_ uncomfortable." Her breathing was heavy and she seemed exhausted, "I don't want to hurt any of you. I would have killed you years ago Bobby…"

"Stop talking!" Dean screamed.

"Drop the fuckin' shot gun, Winchester!" Fin arrived on the scene.

Megan smirked, "You should've shot me when I told you to."

"What the hell is going on here?" Munch joined in with his gun drawn as well.

Sam dropped his gun and rubbed the back of his head, ready to surrender. Bobby was not so fast, and Dean didn't even flinch. He didn't look at the detectives and kept his eyes on Megan.

"I can get you out of here if you just get the god damn garlic as far away from me as possible," she offered again.

"What?" Munch tried to figure out what exactly was taking place here in the subway, "Garlic?"

"Megan, move toward me slowly…" Fin said to her, not looking away from Dean, "And you, you just put the gun down, and we'll go in quietly and no one will get hurt."

"She's your serial killer…you're dick-mauling serial killer…" Bobby grumbled and tried to tend to his sore joints from the impact.

"This is going to sound crazy…" Sam began, "But she's the killer. She's Circe-"

"From _The Odyssey_?" Munch's voice showed only disbelief.

"Dean, put the gun down, man…" Fin kept trying to reason with the steadfast Winchester boy.

Sam tried to reason with the older detective, "John, listen…we're not crazy psycho killers, we're just…we're hunters…we hunt and kill…evil shit, and she is an ancient witch, and she eats men to stay young."

"Cut the bullshit, kid," Fin said to him then, "Keep your damn hands above your head."

"This is absolutely preposterous," the tall and gangly detective said, but then he looked at Megan. He wondered how she had been hit in the face, and how two men seemed to have been thrown against the wall. What had they walked up on? Really?

"Dean, we've got squad cars and a shitload of unis waiting for us right above ground," said Fin.

Megan moved toward the friendly cops and Dean followed her with his gun. He lost his chance to take a clear shot at her, as she stepped behind Fin. She said one final time, "If you don't shoot me, you all can get out of here…but don't do this garlic shit to me again."

"What are you talking about?" Munch asked her.

"Yeah, what is she talkin' about?" Fin asked Dean.

He lowered his gun, "We're telling the truth."

"Look, we've got all of this garlic in our pockets because it weakens her," Sam started to reach into his pants.

"Uh uh!" Munch commanded and pointed his gun at him, and then looked at Megan, "Are you ok?"

She nodded and smiled sweetly. Bobby, Dean, and Sam watched as she then walked past Fin and Munch. She walked away. She just walked away. Her face was bleeding and she just left. Neither of the men tried to stop her.

Once she was about a hundred feet away, she called back to them, "Count to at least twenty, boys, and then you'll be safe, and I hope for the favor to be returned. Just go back to the Midwest and leave me alone."

Everyone seemed confused. She winced and clutched her ribs then limped around the corner and out of sight.

Munch lowered his gun, "I believe you."

"What?" Dean gasped out.

"What?" Fin put his gun down and looked at his partner.

"You do?" Sam questioned.

Bobby rubbed his back. He looked for where the blood had been from her mouth. It was gone. The concrete was just its normal dirty. Munch was calling off the cops that had come for back up. Circe had just walked away from him…again. He shook his head, "That is one clever bitch…"


	14. The Seduction of Casey Novak

The Seduction of Casey Novak

After hopping in a cap and then getting out without paying, and without the cabby even minding, Megan frantically hit the button for Casey's apartment, several times. This was the only place she could think to go.

"It's Megan," she said quickly before Casey even had a chance to ask.

"Ok…" the voice from the speaker sounded confused, but the familiar buzz of the door opening sounded soon after.

Megan darted inside and pulled the door to and made sure it shut completely and then she walked to the elevator as quickly as she could. When you're in a hurry things seem to move exceptionally slow, and the elevator did just that in every way. The doors seemed to open slowly and it seemed to go up the floors at a painfully slow pace.

She opened Casey's door and between pants, she asked, "Can I come in?"

"Of course, Meg…" Casey's voice trailed off when she saw her. "What happened?"

She shook her head, came in, and locked and bolted the door behind her. "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Yeah…" Casey started to get up, pulling her bathrobe around her more tightly, "Do you need to go to the hospital? Do you want me to call someone?"

"No…I'm fine. I'll need to borrow a washcloth or something," she answered and walked straight toward her destination.

Casey stood awkwardly by the couch, not knowing what to do. "Use whatever you need…"

Megan ran the water in the sink until it was warm and grabbed a pale lavender cloth from the pantry. She dapped the cuts on her face and winced, mainly because of her battered reflection in the mirror – the bruises were black and purple, and her left eye was slowly swelling shut. After tending to her face, she raised her shirt to look over her ribs.

"Megan…" Casey approached her cautiously, and gasped, "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it," she forced a smile and dropped her shirt quickly, "Can I borrow your kitchen now? I need to make something."

"Whatever you want. You don't need to ask before you do everything."

"I do though." She shut off the water, leaving the bloodied cloth in the sink. Then she walked past Casey in the doorway.

Casey followed her into the kitchen, "Is this a secret recipe that I can't watch you make?"

She nodded.

Before she left, she asked once more, "Will you please tell me what happened?"

"You'd rather not know."

"Does it have to do with what happened earlier today? You were being weird…weirder than usual."

"I promise, you would rather not know." She insisted.

Casey sighed, and she gave up again. What was wrong with her? When did she become a quitter who backs down like this? She looked down at the little black kitten that tagged along with her at her feet. She shrugged, and he mewed sticking his tail in the air and prancing back to the couch.

"Can you go grab that washcloth I left in your bathroom?" Megan asked.

"Yeah…" Casey went and picked it up immediately. She noted that it was oddly lacking in blood. It looked clean. She assumed Megan had rinsed it well after using it, but damn if she didn't remember her doing it.

Megan was in the living room sitting on the couch, leaning over a little bowl of something, which she sat on the table. Casey handed her the lavender cloth, and she mumbled, "Thanks."

The attorney sat down carefully next to her, and watched for a moment, as she dipped the washcloth into the orange paste and then blotted it on the bruises and cuts on her face. Again, she wondered what this woman could have found in her kitchen to make this stuff. She asked pathetically, "Will you at least let me help?"

The brunette turned and let her hands fall into her lap, limply.

"If you're not going to tell me who did this to you then just fucking let me help you put this…this stuff on your face."

Megan handed her the washcloth and lay back on the couch, trying to relax. She said nothing. Cole jumped onto the couch next to her, but more jumped halfway, stuck to the side, and had to scale his way to the top.

Slowly and carefully, Casey applied the sweet smelling mixture to the girl's face.

"Get it into the cut," Megan instructed as she blotted it around the one by her eye, "And cover the bruises with about an eighth of an inch."

"Ok…" Casey gently turned her face toward her with her other hand to get a better view of the left side, since she sat to her right.

"Don't get it in my eye." She stroked the kitten a few times and he trotted over her legs into Casey's lap.

"I won't." She did as instructed. Megan winced as she forced the thick substance into the cut, and she pulled back a bit. The gash looked worse due to the swelling around it, but it really wasn't that bad. After tending to her eye she moved down carefully to her lip, which was split just a little and it looked like she has also bitten it during the impact – whatever the impact was.

"Is he being a good kitten?" Megan asked with a slight smile and taking the washcloth away from Casey.

"He is."

"Good." She dipped the cloth into her mixture, and lifted her shirt with her left hand. She cringed, but made no sound and began to apply the salve.

"Let me see," Casey maneuvered herself around to take a look at her left side, "Shit, did someone kick you?"

"Don't worry about it…" She tried to pull away.

Casey took her washcloth and then held up her shirt being very careful to minimize the skin-to-skin contact. "Maybe you should have taken your shirt off…this shit looks like it'll stain."

"Nah. In about ten minutes it'll absorb into my skin…it makes the swelling go down and promotes healing, so I won't look like a battered woman for too long."

"You're still pretty," Casey blurted out, thoughtlessly.

She laughed weakly, "There you go hitting on me again, Ms. Novak. First, you wanted me to take off my shirt…"

"I was stating an obvious fact," she defended herself, and continued with her task on the black and blue mess of a ribcage. She tried again, "Tell me who did this to you, please?"

"You don't wanna know."

"I may not _want _to know, but I very much _need_ to know, so they can be arrested." She dabbed a bit more, "Speaking of which, shit hit the fan at SVU today. Apparently, the FBI agents were actually serial killers. Who knew?"

She winced.

Casey assumed she had hit a sore spot, "The real FBI showed up now, but mostly because they're looking for the fake FBI, and-"

"Let's not talk about your work…" She said feebly.

"Would you rather talk about who beat you up?"

"Nice try."

"Aright…" Casey backed up and looked at her work, "All done." She felt quite accomplished and helpful, and then said, "Your face already looks a little better."

Megan eased Casey away from her, wanting space, and mostly just wanting to go now that she used her bathroom and her kitchen. Staying was a bad idea. Probably not as bad of an idea as helping the people escape, who wanted to kill her. All she did was put the simple idea in Munch's head that they were telling the truth about being _hunters_. She preyed on his fascination with conspiracies, and then put the idea in Fin's head that his partner was always really correct. She removed from their mind that they had ever seen her and that they had merely caught the fugitive men. The two detectives put their jobs on the line to let the fake FBI agents go kill some monster, who was also the serial killer.

Munch called off the officers outside, saying that the three men had eluded them. It hit her then that she was tangling too many peoples' lives in her mess. She never should have gone into SVU in the first place. Munch and Fin should never have known her, and she never should have given the Winchesters a chance to recognize her. She shouldn't have tried to reach out to them, or anyone…

"You ok?" Casey asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She looked up, "Yeah, I'm gonna go soon."

"I'd rather you not. Just sit here. I'll get you a glass of wine and…just don't go yet, ok?" She made a rather stern and serious face, "I'm worried, ok?"

"No, I-"

"No, you're going to sit there," she said rather harshly, and stormed into the kitchen.

This was a horrible idea…

Casey returned bearing two glasses of white wine. She extended one, "Here, drink it."

Megan took it and threw it back, drinking the entire glass in three huge gulps, while Casey stared. After she finished, she raised her eyebrows and nodded just slightly toward the door. She wanted to leave.

"You're not going," she took a sip of her own wine.

"Casey," she tried to reason with her, but wasn't at all sure what to say, "I really-"

"Nope," and she took another quick sip.

Megan gave up. She sat her glass down on the table and began to pick at her nails and mess with her hands like she did when anxious. She ran over and over in her head the reasons that coming here and not leaving her were horrible, awful, terrible ideas…for her and for everyone. She regretted this whole series of events.

Casey watched her for a while, drinking her wine, and being worried. She looked at the wine in her glass, and looked at her kitten, and then looked back at the girl sitting next to her who fiddled restlessly with her hands. "Megan…" she said finally, "Honestly, who did this to you? Who would do this to you?"

"I did it to myself." She didn't look up and spoke monotonously.

"Don't tell me you're one of those girls that blames themselves when a guy hits them…"

"No, really."

"A guy should _never_ hit you."

"I promise he has a good reason." She had been trying to wrestle a shotgun out of his hands and all.

"Megan, listen. I can help you." Casey sat down her wine and latched into Megan's wrist with both of her hands.

She snatched her arm away immediately, "You can't!"

Casey looked taken aback and at a loss for words.

"Just let me go…" She said more quietly.

"Go then." She moved over to the end of the couch, nearer to the resting kitten and she picked up her wine. She flipped through channels on TV, not really looking at them.

"I'm sorry…" She apologized almost immediately, "If I tell you it's mob-related and you being involved will put you in danger, will you just stop?"

"I'm already involved," she muttered, bitterly. Yes, she was already involved – Megan knew it. Casey had no idea what she was involved in though.

Megan didn't leave. She just sighed and slumped there next to the ADA.

Casey gritted her teeth and kept aimlessly scrolling through television shows and movies. She didn't stay on any channel long enough to tell if it was a commercial or the actual program. She glanced at Megan every so often, as inconspicuously as she could. She moved closer and closer to her, until their thighs nearly touched. Megan slouched farther forward and put her face into her hands. The lawyer reached out slowly and cautiously lay her hand on her back. At first she just played with Megan's hair. She moved it from her shoulders and pulled it back.

Eventually Megan looked up and turned slightly toward her. Then Casey rested her hand on the side of her neck, and she moved closer still. She pulled her legs up onto the couch and stroked Megan's jaw with her thumb.

Megan froze, looking into her blue-green eyes. She watched as her eyes closed and she closed her own then she felt Casey's lips on the corner of her mouth, opposite the busted side. She moved her face, guiding Casey's mouth to the center of hers. She knew Casey didn't want to hurt her, but it was ok if she did a little. Soon Casey's hands tangled in the brunette's hair, and Megan's hands were caressing her legs.

The younger woman broke the kiss just as she felt the lawyer's tongue flit into her mouth, "One glass of wine and you're reliving your lesbian experimentation from college, huh?"

She blushed and rubbed her own neck, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I didn't even finish the whole glass…"

"Do you want me to go _now_?" Megan asked, curiously.

Shaking her head, she said, "No…" She grabbed her wine, finished it and then tossed her hair quite dramatically before standing.

Megan looked up at her, confusedly. Casey seemed to be waiting for something.

Growing impatient quickly, she took Megan's hands and guided her carefully to her bedroom, where her overly large king bed was unkempt. Casey let her bathrobe loosen and fall from her shoulders. She sat on the edge and pulled Megan close, between her legs. She pulled her shirt off and tossed it aside, and then went for her pants. Megan just stood there and let these things happen. In the next moment, the attorney lay down, and pulled the other girl down on top of her. Her hands wandered and she touched her back and sides, careful to avoid her bruised ribs. Her hands wandered down and then back up. She touched her shoulders and then moved down her arms. She pulled her legs up, resting them on either side of Megan's legs.

Megan kissed the woman's fair skin from her jaw to her neck and to her shoulder. She tangled her fingers her hair and nibbled lightly on her ear.

Casey sighed, and Megan felt her body push against hers rhythmically. She kissed her again, and Casey pulled her into it forcefully. Her lip stung every now and again, but she ignored it. Her hands began to drift over the delicate skin beneath her. She cupped her firm breasts and ran her fingers over her nipples, making every effort to memorize everything about the other woman's body.

As her hands drifted further down, her face followed. She bit playfully on Casey's erect and pink nipple. The woman sighed again, and guided her face back to hers.

"I don't wanna hurt you…" Megan whispered, faintly, breathlessly.

"Shh…" She gasped briefly before forcing their mouths back together; her back arched as Megan explored between her legs, and took it as a green light, signaling her to go.

Casey played in her hair, and grabbed her arms. She buried her face into her neck, sucking and biting her skin gently, and then she would gravitate back to her mouth. Her body tensed and moved against Megan's. She was very quiet, aside from faint sounds and an occasional gasp. Thoughts kept surfacing in her mind that she was just lonely and desperate, but she pushed them aside for the time being – she'd deal with them in the morning.

With the faintest possible moan, Casey dug her nails viciously into Megan's back and held their bodies close. Megan felt the lawyer's body tense and she covered her mouth with her own. Casey smiled and Megan laid her head on her chest. Casey toyed with her hair again and said sweetly, "Don't tell a soul about this…"

"I won't, I promise."

They lay like that for a while, without speaking. Megan eventually rolled onto her side, and she looked Casey over. Her eyes were closed and a slight smile graced her lips. Megan ran her fingers down the woman's arm, and she opened her eyes.

Casey moved up closer to the head of her giant bed and rested her head on a pillow. She waited…

Megan stood and began to gather her clothes from the floor. She started to put on her shirt, but heard Casey behind her.

"Please, stay…" The attorney almost pleaded, but her voice wasn't as whiney and desperate as it needed to be to beg properly.

Megan dropped her shirt back into the floor, sighed and then crawled back into the bed next to Casey. She propped up and fluffed a pillow against the headboard and sat beside her.

"Are you going to wait until I fall asleep and then leave?"

Megan sighed again, "That was my plan, yes."

"Why don't you wanna stay?"

"It isn't that I don't want to. It's that it's a terrible idea."

"For you or me?"

"Both of us…" She admitted.

She shrugged, "I'm not much of a cuddler…I just want you to take up space in my bed," she said, as if to convince her. "You can leave when I fall asleep."

"Just go to sleep, Casey," she laid down and faced her.


	15. Too Many Dicks

Too Many Dicks

Megan woke up before Casey. She found the woman lying on her stomach with one arm sticking out and draped over the side of the bed. She really wasn't a cuddler. Thinking she should get up, she moved away from the sleeping woman carefully so not to disturb her. Instead of getting up though, she found herself just lying there for longer and watching her sleep. She lay there until Casey's alarm went off from her phone in the living room. At this point she realized she was being creepy.

Casey didn't budge.

Megan poked her in the arm, "Hey, wake up." She poked her harder, "Casey, wake up." Then she sat up and moved to the edge of the bed farthest from her.

With a groan the woman opened her eyes. The sheets rustled and then she said, "Your back looks like hell."

The brunette reached around and felt the raised skin on her shoulders, "I've still got some of my magical orange shit on your coffee table."

Cole mewed and frolicked up to Casey, ready for his breakfast. He had somehow scaled the bed while they slept and joined them. "Alright, little man."

"I'm gonna go in a minute…" Megan said.

"Want any coffee or juice or anything?"

She shook her head, but didn't look at her, "No thanks."

"Wanna do lunch today? Or dinner?" Casey padded to her bathroom for her bathrobe.

"No…"

Holding the tiny black kitten, the redhead came around to the other side of the bed and stood in front of Megan, "Why are you so sad?"

"I'm not." She forced a smile and looked up. She was normally a much better liar.

Casey tilted her head, "Damn, your face looks totally better."

She smiled genuinely for a second, "It's magical, I told you."

"Right." Casey didn't take her seriously at all. She scoffed and headed to the kitchen.

"Will you put orange stuff on my back, since, you know, you mauled me?" She called after her and gathered her clothes.

"Yeah," she answered.

She pulled on her jeans and ran her hands through her hair a few times. She found Casey preparing the washcloth with the bright orange paste. Megan turned and put her back to her, moving her hair over her right shoulder.

Casey dabbed it on like she had done the night before, and said, "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Hurting you."

"You didn't…" She stood there, twisting her hair and waiting for Casey to finish.

"So…are you going to walk around topless until this stuff dries, or what?"

"I mean, I can cover my tits with my arms if that would make you more comfortable," she said sarcastically.

She chuckled and Megan heard her sit down the bowl, "All done. Are you sure you don't want a cup of coffee or anything?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Well, are you sure you don't want to do lunch or dinner?"

She turned around, "It isn't that I don't _want_ to, it's that I can't. I already have dinner plans of sorts."

Megan left that morning, intending very much to never see Casey again. She intended to disappear. She intended to fix the whole debacle with the Winchesters and then be gone from everyone's lives. She _intended_…

"Do you think she'll go back to SVU?" Sam asked and looked through binoculars at the police station.

"No, I don't think she'll go back to SVU." Dean answered and sat with his arms crossed in the front seat of the Impala.

"I think she will." Bobby disagreed. "She thinks we won't, so she'll go back."

"Why does she keep going back? She's not a _complete_ idiot, I don't think." Dean interjected.

"I bet she'll try to get rid of everything that has anything to do with the murders, and probably alter some memories…" Bobby pondered, "She's a lot like a Trickster."

"She's not getting any amusement out of it though, it's just survival," said Sam.

"Don't defend her, Sam," Dean snapped at him.

"I wasn't. I was just saying. You're the one that didn't shoot her." He put down his binoculars and glared at his brother.

"You didn't shoot her either."

"Boys," Bobby reprimanded from the backseat.

"What?" They said in unison, and glared at one another again.

Dean cleared his throat and looked at Bobby, "And _you_ didn't shoot her either."

"I was studying her. What's your excuse? You let her get to you."

He didn't even answer, and just sat with his arms crossed, staring ahead.

Bobby smacked him in the arm, "Get some binoculars, boy, and be on the lookout."

SVU headquarters started to bustle with activity quite early. Sometime that day another murder would take place if the sick pattern continued. In addition, there were three men wanted for various heinous crimes, who had been posing as FBI agents, loose somewhere in the city, which had made off with a bunch of evidence pertaining to the serial killer.

Coming in with her briefcase and her jacket over her arm, Casey weaved through the people. She stopped at Detective Benson's desk, "Any leads on the dick-ripping killer?"

Olivia started to say something when Detective Stabler came over and said, "Casey, you look good today. Did you get laid last night?"

She stammered and formed no words.

"Inappropriate, Elliot. Go back to your desk…although, you are sort of glowy today, Casey." Olivia commented.

"I'm going to go to my office now, thanks." She turned and started to go on her way when she changed her mind and said, "Actually, maybe I did have a good night last night. So there."

"Oh, really?" Elliot grinned and sat on the corner of Olivia's desk.

"Why do you always sit on my desk? Go to your desk," she said. Then she turned back to Casey, "Munch and Fin are out investigating a lead, so maybe we'll catch this perp and go out to Pete's later and _then_ you can tell us about it."

"Is that why you two are being so chipper? What's this lead? I need to catch up on this whole thing since I'll probably end up prosecuting and all."

"Unless the FBI takes it. This shit has gone national." Elliot sipped his coffee and still sat on Olivia's desk.

"The FBI is more interested in catching the guys who were pretending to be FBI and got one over on us." Olivia pointed out.

"I still can't believe that…" Casey was in awe, "They just seemed like normal guys. I had lunch with the fake Agent Fox, and the old guy was really sweet…in a rugged, backwoods sort of way."

Elliot let out a big sigh, "Fake Agent Todd…God…I bonded with that man. We had things in common…" He sounded disappointed and nostalgic over this, "I don't know what they were up to. It doesn't make sense."

"They were after Megan, apparently…" Olivia told them both.

Casey tensed up a bit.

"Speaking of Megan," Elliot began, "I need to look her up, and see what the hell they could've been after. What's her last name?"

"Woolfe," Casey answered, her voice shaking a little, and she hoped it went unnoticed.

"BRB or whatever it is that kids say these days," the man said.

"Bathroom break? Is that what that stands for?" Her partner asked him.

He laughed and returned to his own desk.

"You're making a face like you have something else to say, Case…" Oliva observed.

"Do either of you know if they got a hold of her yesterday?"

"Why? Something wrong?" She asked.

Casey swallowed and said, "Well…she showed up at my place, looking a little rough. She was ok, just some cuts and bruises. She didn't want to call anyone or tell me what happened."

"From Munch and Fin's report, they didn't even see her. They were chasing the Winchester boys and this Bobby Singer character. Things got chaotic in the subway and they got away. No mention of Megan."

The ADA lowered her voice to a whisper, "Do you remember me having you fingerprint my-"

"Of course, it was weird, and only your prints were on it."

She leaned down closer to the detective, "I was trying to get Megan's prints."

"Why would you give me something she didn't touch?"

"That's the thing. She _did_ touch it, and no she wasn't wearing gloves. I even asked her yesterday if she stapled anything and she said yes."

Olivia looked concerned at Casey, "Are you sure? There's no way she couldn't leave prints, Casey."

"I'm sure, I swear. I'm not _completely_ losing my mind."

"Everyone leaves prints."

Casey looked up toward the evidence board, "Not the fucking dick-ripping killer."

Olivia laughed, "What are you suggesting? Do you think Megan is our killer?"

"No…I…she…aren't you missing a bunch of paperwork and crime scene photos and all of the sketches? It all disappeared since she's been coming here."

"Someone would have noticed her rummaging. She was always coming in here in skimpy little dresses. There's no way she could have done it, Casey. Our fake FBI agents probably jacked everything. It's what they do."

"I know…I just…shit…"

"You just shit?" Elliot asked with a snicker, sneaking up on the women again. He sat down on his spot on the corner of Olivia's desk.

"I'm going to put something on that corner so you can sit there, I swear. Or maybe a thumbtack or eight."

Elliot rolled his eyes, "I'm running Megan through the DMV's files. Do you know what she does, Case?"

She rubbed her forehead trying to clear from her mind that she had sex with a woman who sort of seemed like she might be the sadistic and insane killer wreaking havoc on men's privates. "I'm not entirely sure…I think she works with animals…at the Bronx Zoo, maybe? She has degrees and is licensed in basically everything…" She thought for a minute, "She's been to Europe, so she has to have a passport."

"How old is she?" Elliot asked.

"Twenty-five."

"She's a little over-achiever, yeah?" Olivia remarked.

"Yeah…I've got work to do…" She scurried into her office before more conversation could happen. She closed the door and closed all of the blinds.

Oliva looked at Elliot and said, "I think Casey's going off her rocker. She randomly got the idea that Megan's actually our dick-ripper."

Elliot laughed boisterously, "That's ridiculous!"

"I got some information from the street," Fin walked in, followed closely by Munch. "I got in touch with some of my contacts."

"You won't believe what we found," Munch said, and followed it with, "No, really, you won't."

The two men walked over to Elliot and Olivia. Elliot was actually at his own desk and staring intently at his computer. He squinted and said, "Someone should go get Casey."

"She's at a trial. What's up?" Olivia popped up from behind her computer.

Elliot rubbed his head, "I think she'll wanna know that her assistant has stolen someone's identity…"

"Those Winchesters were onto something, I hate to admit it," Munch told them.

Olivia asked, "What'd you guys find?"

"My contacts said-" Fin began.

"Wait, who are your contacts?" Elliot asked.

He shot him a glare, "They want to remain anonymous, and they told me that Megan is isn't who she seems, and they think she's involved in our killin' spree."

"So are you saying the Winchesters were here disguised as FBI to catch her, and she's someone else too, and she's a psycho-killer who rips off dicks?" Elliot remained skeptical.

Munch cringed, "And balls, and now bashes faces in."

"I ain't done, now listen…" Fin went on, "They said she'll be finished with her killin' after the kill due to happen today, and then she'll be gone and we'll _never_ catch her."

"Who are these contacts, Fin?" Elliot demanded because it seemed too ridiculous.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that we all follow my fuckin' lead and we apprehend her. I bet if we fuckin' apprehend her, no one'll get their cocks and balls ripped off tonight."

"We need to just get Megan in custody for something and keep her tonight, see what happens," Munch said.

"Something like the identity theft would do it," Olivia suggested. "This girl knows where Casey lives and everything…"

"I can't believe Casey didn't check her out. It's like she just found her on the street." Elliot was confused by this as well, "I still don't think she's a the killer. She doesn't look strong enough to lift a stapler, much less-"

"Stapler…that's what Casey was on about this morning." Olivia told them, "You know how there are no prints at the scene…well…Case had me dust her stapler and there were only her prints on it, but she swore Megan had used it."

"How's that possible?" Elliot wasn't buying this at all.

"I don't know. That's what I told her."

Munch put his hands on his hips and cut in, "I think we might be dealing with something out of the ordinary."

"Don't start with the conspiracy theories, John," Olivia pleaded.

"There are no government cover-ups or aliens involved in this…just some crazy fuck who pulls off dicks." Elliot shook his head, not believing the ridiculousness, "I think we all need to get some rest."

"We can't rest until the dicks are safe," Fin asserted confidently.

"And it's our job to make the city safe for dicks," his partner added.

"And vaginas, and children, and the elderly," Olivia reminded the men, and then added under her breath referring to the number of men surrounding her, "Too many dicks."

Elliot heard her, "Yeah, too many dicks have been hurt."

She rolled her eyes. She still sort of empathized with the killer, although she did want this all to be over. She'd rather it not be Megan, mostly for Casey's sake.

"No way Megan's a dick-removing cannibal. She eats healthy food." Elliot tossed out after a brief pause in the banter.

"Maybe she needs to get her other nutrients. You can't live on a diet of raw flesh," said Munch.

"None of this explains though, how our killer is targeting his _or_ her victims," Olivia looked at her partner. "Unsolved and _unreported_ rapes."

"I'm telling you, we're dealing with something abnormal." Munch insisted.

"What are you suggesting exactly?" Elliot wandered.

"I'm just saying that there are things we can't always explain, and maybe we've gotten tangled up in one." With that he went to his own desk, and Fin followed. They had some calls to make to their contacts, and Munch had some cloves of garlic to deposit all around the station.

Bobby and the Winchesters continued their stake out. Dean returned to his seat in the Impala and pulled out the hat and sunglasses he wore for a cheap disguise. They were, of course, Fin's anonymous contacts, and Dean had met with them to explain the situation. He'd convinced the detectives that Megan was their killer, and agreed to share information. They disagreed on the course to take in dealing with her. The detectives wanted to arrest her, while Dean wanted to shoot her on sight. They agreed to disagree on the matter and whoever got her first, got her. Munch had readily taken a card from Dean and was highly inclined to believe his truth. Fin took some convincing, but gave in because of his extreme dislike of penises being removed and inserted into men's throats.

"I don't think she'll go back to SVU," Dean said again.

"She went back over and over, long after it was a good idea. She'll go back." Bobby insisted, "There's something there she wants, I think."

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"Dunno."

Sam then said, "I'm starting to vaguely agree with Dean. She came at lunch. It's almost lunchtime and she hasn't shown up yet." Sam told them, still scanning the sidewalk with his binoculars.

"You better hope she does show up because this'll be our last chance to catch her," advised Bobby.

Dean punched Sam in the arm. "Don't even start saying shit about letting her go. I know you're thinking it."

"Even if-" He started.

"Shut up, there she is," Bobby pointed.


	16. A Series of Failures

_**A/N: **So...there are some terrible errors in this. Not that anyone cares...since no one has said anything. lol. Casey doesn't drive much. She bikes, I know, but she needed to have a car. A bicycle would not have worked for this epic story, unless it were a tandem bicycle and now that would just be silly! Also, she does not have a BlackBerry, but shh! FURTHERMORE, the ADA's office is not RIGHT THERE basically in SVU like I have it, I know this, but hey...I needed convenience, and in my mind the squad room is very near to the DAs office and all of that business. Everything is very condensed in my head. Again, not that anyone really cares. I just clarifying that I'm not a total fool for anyone that reads this later. Yeeeaaaaaaah fanfiction!_

A Series of Failures

Megan didn't go to SVU. She did lurk up the block though. She waited and she paced there at the corner, but she didn't know what she was waiting for exactly. She needed to go in and change everything. She needed to change it all back, make everyone forget her. She needed to make everyone forget that Bobby, Dean, and Sam were of questionable character. She needed the murders to still all be totally mysterious. She needed to get rid of the _hot girl_ suspect. She never should have let anyone see her. She should have stuck to lone men on the highway. She never should have come to this stupid city.

She wasn't very hungry. She didn't have an appetite at all. She needed to eat just a bit more though. One more. One more and she would be at full power. At which point it would be much easier to fix the terrible mess she'd caused. She'd just do it now. She'd find some sick fuck, kill him, eat him, fix things, and go. That would be it.

For a while she stood there on the corner and she looked down toward the building housing the SVU squad, as people passed. She was hoping to get some fleeting, pointless glance of the ADA. She didn't know three pairs of binoculars from a black Impala were watching her.

Giving up on the internal dialogue she was having with herself about how much of a horrible fuck up she was, she decided to just find some jackass to eat. It was ridiculous after so many hundreds of years that she would ruin everything so badly all of a sudden, and over something so stupid and trivial. She knew there was a bar close by. Bars were a great place to find her preferred food. She also wanted a drink. She thought it would calm down all of her fidgeting, and quiet the stupid thoughts in her head.

"Should we text Munch and tell him the target is on the move?" Sam asked.

"No. We should leave them alone and just go kill her and get out of town before they _completely_ flush their careers down the shitter." Dean said as he started the car.

"Looks like she's going into Pete's…" Bobby observed.

Sam groaned, "Maybe we should just let the detectives arrest her. Let her have a trial…"

Dean put the car back in park, "Sam, she'll get away. She will get away. She will kill more people. She will rip off their dicks, and she will eat their man-bacon. Do you want her to chew on your belly?"

"I'm not a rapist."

"It doesn't matter! It's the principle!"

"Exactly, it's the principle! Bad men. She will kill bad men, Dean."

"Sam! Dean!" Bobby shouted, he then said calmly, "Just shut up."

As Megan went in, Dean moved the car closer to the entrance and left it running. He sneered at Sam and said, "You can sit here, if you want."

"Fine."

Bobby and Dean got out, and Sam played with the radio. The two put on sunglasses to make them less recognizable since their faces were all over the news. They went in and found Megan at the bar, sitting alone. They went up to her and sat on either side.

"Fuck you two and your garlic," she said without even looking up. "This is the thanks I get for saving your asses?"

"Come with us, Circe," Bobby said kindly with his hand on the gun he was concealing in his vest.

"Let's not do this in here," Dean added.

"Let me finish my damn drink," she pointed to the gin and tonic sitting in front of her, "Can I get you two some beers?"

"No, although I am thirsty," answered Bobby.

She laughed, "Just let me go. I'll fix everything. I'll go on my way, and you'll never see me again."

"You kill men. What poor bastard in here is your target?" Dean said between his teeth.

"No one. All of these guys in here are normal guys. No pedophiles or pimps or rapists. I was waiting and having a drink." She coughed, "God, why'd you have to use the fucking garlic again?"

"We don't want you in our heads, dumbass," Bobby snapped.

The bartender came back up, "Can I get you fellas anything?"

They both looked up. Bobby shook his head and frowned.

Dean said, "No, thanks," and smiled.

Immediately they both refocused on Megan, who sipped her drink as the color began to drain from her face, "I won't get in your fucking heads. I'm done. I messed up."

"You had your fun?" Dean asked, "You're totally like a Trickster."

She cleared her throat and said, "I am _nothing_ like a Trickster."

"How can we trust you?" Bobby asked.

"I keep my word. I _always_ keep my word, especially to men like you two who come wielding garlic. I fucking hate garlic, and you got me. You figured out who I was. You should give yourselves some pats on the back."

"You have morals?" Dean seemed shocked.

She turned and looked at him, "Yes, I have morals. Don't you?"

"Just come with us, Circe," Bobby said again a bit more harshly.

"Either shoot me here or let me finish my drink."

"Hurry it up." Dean also kept his hand on his gun inside of his jacket.

"No, I think I deserve this damn drink after the fucking mess I've caused."

"Does ripping off men's dicks and eating them start to get depressing after a while?" Bobby asked her bitterly and quietly.

She looked him in the eye, "No." She laughed, "God, you two are idiots."

"You're the idiot," Dean said the insult back to her quickly.

Megan took another sip of her drink and stirred it with the little black straw. She then wiped her face. Her hands were clammy and she coughed again before saying, "I will never regret taking fucking horrible people out of the world. Never. It would be like you two regretting killing demons."

"They're _people_." Dean told her.

"I'm a person. I'm mortal. What the fuck is it that defines _person_ for you two?" She looked at them both and continued, speaking to Dean, "Where's the line? Your fucking brother has powers. They aren't as strong as mine, but he does. I can't help that my father was the fucking sun god. So I have some weird powers that you don't have? So I know some fucking magic? So I make potions? So I eat people that suck? I'm just different. It's not like I'm conversing with Satan."

"Stop talking, just drink," he barred his teeth as he spoke.

She shrugged and took another small gulp.

"Jesus Christ woman, you've been alive for thousands of years, I know you can drink faster than that." Bobby commented.

She laughed behind her glass, "I miss having my own little island where men showed up on their boats and I got them drunk. We would party for years and years. I only ate the assholes from the groups. Those were the days. Dinner came to me…fucking delivered."

"You're a sorceress, and you use black magic." Dean growled.

"Demigod," she corrected, "No black magic involved. You're such a judger, Dean." She finished off her drink and threw down some money then stood up from the barstool, "Let's go."

As soon as they got out of Pete's, they grabbed onto her, and shoved her into the car. Bobby pulled out his gun and held it to the side of her head, and Dean hurried into the driver's seat.

"Don't shoot her in my car, Bobby," Dean said, "We'll take her to some bridge somewhere so we can dump her body and head out."

She didn't put up a fight. She didn't struggle, and she said no more. She had no intention of letting them kill her before she fixed this disastrous mess though. She'd figure something out. The garlic was making her nauseous, and these boys must have whole heads on them, not just a clove or two. She tried to hold her breath for the awkward car ride. She started to feel a bit lightheaded and was glad when Bobby dragged her out of the car into the fresh air.

Dean held his gun out and she stood there unsteadily. She stared at him through her hair that had fallen in her face. The moment seemed to last forever, and she started to smile. It crept over her mouth slowly and eerily. He prepared to pull the trigger.

Some pigeons cooed suddenly and loudly, and gulls cried out. Some sounds came from the right, some from the left, and then from all sides. In the next second the bird swarmed the two men, beating them with their wings and making a racket. Sam watched in shock from the car, not knowing what to do and fearing the feathered rats would kill his brother. The birds swooped and pecked like shit from Hitchcock. Bobby covered his face and Dean tried to pistol whip them. They both let out strings of expletives and tried to scramble back to the car. They couldn't see as feathers flew all around them.

With an adequate distraction, Megan started to walk away calmly when Sam jumped out of the car and took a poorly aimed shot at her. He yelled, "Call off the fucking birds!"

She turned and glared at him. The bullet veered to her right just before reaching her and grazed her arm. Her mouth dropped and she looked down at the blood pouring. The birds went after Sam as well then, and she muttered, "Fuck."

Eventually the three got back in the car and rolled up their windows. The birds flew off, and they examined their wounds. All were superficial, and not terrible. The birds had mostly just been obnoxious.

"How'd you miss her, Sam?" Dean asked, checking his face in the mirror.

He shook his head, "She moved the bullet."

"What?" Bobby exclaimed.

"She moved it, like, with her mind."

"Oh…well…she'll need to go somewhere to get that fixed up, so let's start calling hospitals." Dean said hurriedly.

Bobby shook his head, "No. Did you boys notice that her face looked fine? I know you knocked her in the face at least twice, Dean."

"Can she heal herself or some shit?" Dean was mad.

"Probably potions."

"Where would she go to make her potions?" Sam questioned.

"I don't fucking know," the older man answered.

…

Holding her arm, and hobbling up the street, Megan tried to formulate some sort of plan. It only stung a little, but it was bleeding everywhere and she was starting to feel a bit fatigued. She needed to eat whether she was hungry or not.

She trudged up the sidewalk, and no one gave her a second glace. She found a payphone on a corner after a while, and stopped. She picked up the receiver with her less bloodied hand and held it to her face with her shoulder. She dropped in some change and then dialed a number carefully and deliberately.

It rang a few times.

"ADA Casey Novak," she answered.

"Hey, it's Megan," she said as clearly as she could.

"Shit, Megan. I just got back to the office and you fucking stole someone's identity! Do you want to explain this to me? You've made me look like an idiot." She said angrily.

"Hush for a minute," she demanded, and then followed it with, "Someone shot me."

There was a pause and then an exclamation of, "What?"

"Shot, like with a gun and a bullet."

"Call 911, not me!"

"No, Casey, I can't. Come get me. I need to go to your place."

"That orange shit will not fix a gunshot!" She yelled, frantically.

"It just nicked me. Come pick me up."

"Where the hell are you?"

She looked at the nearest intersection and told the attorney. Then she said, "Just come get me and hurry up. I'm bleeding all over everything, and don't fucking tell anyone what you're doing."

Before Casey could speak again, Megan hung up the phone. She sat down on a bench, and kept her hand over the wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. The blood was seeping all through her fingers. She looked back in the direction she had come from, and saw the trail of blood she left, slowly vanishing.

…

Casey grabbed her keys and ran out of her office. She moved as quickly as she could in her heels, and didn't say anything to anyone, although Olivia had called out after her. What the fuck was she doing? What was she involved in? What was this? Why was she going to pick up a girl who had been shot who lied to her about who she was?

She punched the intersection into her GPS and then peeled her tired pulling from her space. Thoughts raced through her head. She didn't know what she'd find, and tried to prepare herself. She needed to take this idiot girl to the hospital, and then she needed to bring her in for the identity theft issue. She wondered what the truth was and what were lies. She was angry and confused and hurt, and above all, completely worried and terrified.

When about halfway there, she called Olivia and didn't give her a chance to answer properly, she just started talking, "Liv, I'm picking Megan up, I'll bring her in for this identity theft stuff in a little while."

"In a little while? What?"

"Just don't ask questions. I'll bring her in. I'm just letting you know that she'll be with me, so don't send cops out looking for her or anything."

"What if she gets away from you? Do you want me to come out there? Where are you?"

"Don't ask questions. I will bring her to the station, I swear."

"Casey…"

She hung up, and spotted the girl sitting on the bench. She looked pale and there was blood everywhere in the immediate area, but not as much as she had mentally prepared for. Before she could put the car in park, Megan got up and got in.

"Take me to your apartment."

Casey put the car in park and looked at her, "Megan, who the fuck _shot _you?"

"Don't worry about it and take me to your apartment." She wouldn't look at her.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, it's just a flesh wound."

"You're bleeding in my car."

"I'll clean it up, just take me to your apartment. Now."

Casey refused and took her hands off of the wheel, "I'm going to take you to the fucking emergency room, and you're going to tell me what's going on!"

"Don't yell at me, I've been shot!" Megan screamed.

"Tell me who shot you!"

"Sam Winchester shot me. Happy?"

"Fake Agent Fox?"

"Yes, now fucking start driving before I bleed in your car more."

She took a deep breath, and changed the gear of her car. She shook her head, "Megan…if that's your name…please tell me what's going on. I can help you. I know lots of people, and if you're in trouble I can get you out of it."

Megan sighed, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, and you can only help by getting me to your apartment."

"Does it hurt?" She asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Your arm."

"No, it's fine."

She shook her head again, her mind boggled. She avoided looking at the blood. It made her feel dizzy, so she just drove, but she felt the need to keep talking, "What's your real name?"

"My name is Megan."

"It isn't."

"It is. It's what you call me, so it's my name."

Casey argued, "It's someone else's name."

"Coincidence."

"You don't exist."

"Correct."

"What?"

"Casey, don't worry about it."

"But I _am_ worried. You're bleeding in my car. You called _me_. You can't tell me not to worry."

"It was a mistake," she answered quickly.

"I don't want it to be a mistake. I want to help you. I can't believe I'm not taking you to the hospital. How did no one else call 911, seeing you there on that bench in broad daylight?"

She responded softly, "I didn't want them to."

Casey didn't understand, "You know I have to take you in. I told Liv what I was doing. You-"

"I told you not to tell anyone!" She snapped.

"I had to! It's my job! I'm fucking obligated to the law! You need to come in for questioning!"

Megan said nothing else for the remainder of the ride, and Casey held her tongue. Megan winced when she got out of the car. Casey hurried around and then helped her inside. Afterward, Casey helped her clean up the wound the best she could, feeling completely disgusted by the entire thing. As Megan blotted on the orange paste, Casey watched sadly.

"Megan…please, I'm begging you…tell me what's going on. Even if you think I won't believe you, even if you think I can't help. Even if you've done something horrible. Please…"

Megan looked up, and looked into Casey's eyes. She looked back down quickly and tossed the cloth onto the table, "I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not going to."

She sighed, holding some paper towels over her injury, "Just take me to the station."

They headed back out and Megan's color began to return. Casey started the car and then said, "Why is there no blood on the seat? There was blood on the seat."

"I didn't get blood on your seat," Megan tried to lie, "I was careful."

"No, there was blood on my seat, and you touched my stapler, but there were no fingerprints on my stapler."

"Huh?"

As Casey drove, she spoke very slowly, "Why does your blood disappear?"

"It doesn't." She said quietly. She hated lying.

"Megan," Casey said firmly.

"Magic," she answered.

"I don't believe in magic."


	17. Interrogation

Interrogation

Casey came in with Megan and everyone looked at them, but only briefly. Casey sat her down in a chair by Elliot's desk. She spoke to her quietly and quickly, "Tell them that Sam Winchester shot you. Tell them why they're after you, if you don't want to tell me. That's why you've been using a fake name, isn't it? Because of the Winchesters?"

Megan shook her head and as Elliot approached, she said, "Casey, I'm sorry."

"Alright, I'll take it from here," Elliot said, and Casey went quietly back to her office. When she got inside, she closed the door and watched through her blinds. She couldn't hear what was said, but she watched as Elliot spilled his coffee and nearly tripped over Olivia. She watched confusedly as Megan was cuffed and taken down the hall. Everyone in the squad room looked confused and distressed. She watched Fin slip out with his cell phone as if to make a call, and she watched Munch pace in his place. Cragen came out of his office. He seemed relaxed, but also distressed. She watched as Huang arrived and he was pointed back in the direction that Megan was taken.

She waited for someone to come to her office. She waited for someone to come tell her what was going on, but no one came. If Megan was someone important, why weren't they telling her? She had brought her in. She is who had first invited her into SVU. Why wasn't anyone telling her what was happening?

"My God…" She muttered. What if Megan _was_ the cannibalistic killer? Shit. She'd have to be questioned. Shit. She harbored a criminal. Shit! A psychopath gave her a kitten. Fuck! She had spontaneous lesbian sex with someone who eats men! _Eats_!

She toyed with the idea of leaving and pretending she knew nothing about whatever unfolded, but no…she couldn't. She had work to do. She had been standing here, acting like some sort of spy, peeking through her blinds for a long time.

Sitting down, she ran her hands thought her hair and tried to focus on the papers in front of her, but she couldn't. Her life was a fucking mess. She didn't sleep, she drank more coffee than was good for anyone, she had no social life…all she ever thought about were sex crimes, and now…she couldn't stop thinking about this stupid girl who may or may not be a psychopath.

…

When Elliot came over to Megan, smiling and carrying his coffee, she said immediately, "I'm the killer."

He said, "Huh?"

"I kill men, rip off their penises, and then I eat their abdominal muscles. I've killed six people. I'm due to kill a seventh today. The Winchesters and Bobby Singer are after me, and trying to kill me before I do. I'd rather not die. Arrest me, and make sure someone is guarding me at all times."

He stared at her, and upon realizing she was telling the truth. He sputtered, spilled his coffee, and started to move backwards away from her. Olivia was walking up behind him to also come speak with Megan, and he backed into her, nearly falling backwards. He only just managed to maintain his balance.

Olivia patted him on the back, "Whoa, big boy. You spilled your coffee."

"She's the killer." He pointed and said, shakily.

"Huh?"

"I'm the killer," Megan said.

"Come on, you…" Olivia's voice faded as she too realized the truth.

She was agreeable and cooperative and quite polite as Olivia took her back to an interrogation room and mirandized her. She confessed _again_, and waived her right to council. She coughed weakly every now and again as she passed by hidden garlic cloves. Olivia locked her in and watched her through the two-way glass, not sure what exactly to do with her. The news spread like wildfire. Soon the entire precinct was ablaze with the information that the serial killer was caught. The media got a hold of it in the next moment, and then Sam, Dean, and Bobby became aware that shooting her would become much more difficult, but at least she had been stopped from killing again. They needed a new plan.

Everything at the station bustled. Cragen made a statement, and Huang came in. Eventually everyone stared at Megan through the two-way glass. She sat with her hands folded on the table, waiting for someone to come in. No one wanted to. She seemed so nice and pleasant, and not strong enough to do the horrible damage that the killer did.

Huang stood with his hands behind his back and said, "I can't believe it…"

"I can't believe she just walked in and surrendered herself…" Elliot muttered.

"Ripping off penises must've done some work on her conscience." Fin said.

"I can't believe the Winchesters figured her out before we did. They were after her this whole time," Munch pondered very purposefully aloud, "Maybe the Winchesters are misunderstood vigilantes themselves."

"Shut up, John," Olivia said, annoyed with his theorizing, and feeling sympathy for the girl. She poked Elliot, "Do we know her real name?"

"No. We took fingerprints, but…"

"But what?" Cragen asked.

"They disappeared before we could run them through the system."

The Captain stared at him blankly, "What do you mean _disappeared_?"

"I mean they _disappeared_."

"Print don't disappear," the older man said.

"Well…they faded away. The ink disappeared. That would explain why there were no prints at the scene."

"That doesn't make any sense," Olivia commented.

"You can go look if you want." Elliot told her, and told everyone.

"I think we're dealing with something highly anomalous." Munch stared at her.

Huang took a deep breath, "Alright, I'm going in."

"Cover your nuts," Detective Tutuola warned and made a motion with his hands over his private region.

George Huang entered the small room, and sat down across from Megan at the gray table. He said, "My name is George, what's your name?"

"Megan."

"Is that your real name?"

"As real as your name."

"Yes, well…what is the name you were given at birth?" He asked her very calmly.

She leaned back and crossed her arms. With a smirk, she said, "Circe."

"Like the witch from _The Odyssey_?"

"Demigod," she corrected.

"That's interesting. Where are you from, Circe?"

"Aeaea, and don't call me Circe. My name is Megan now. No one has called me Circe in forever."

"That's a mythical island, where you really from?"

"That's where I'm from. It's not an island anymore, but that doesn't mean it's a myth."

He nodded, "Ok. Who are your parents, and where do they live?"

"My parents are dead. They were Helios and Perse."

He looked at her and tried to read her facial expressions, "Why did you kill those men?"

"I'm sure what you want to know is if I'm sorry…" She shook her head, "Not in the slightest."

"Why did you kill them?" He asked her again.

"They were bad people."

"Everyone deserves a fair trial."

She laughed, "No, they never would have been caught, and I also need to eat. If I want to stay young and beautiful, I have to eat people every now and again…so I choose people the world can do without."

"How do you know they were bad men, Megan?"

"I know everyone's thoughts."

Not letting his feelings show, he asked curiously and didn't break their eye contact, "What am I thinking?"

"You're thinking I'm severely delusional," she smiled, "You're thinking I'll plead insanity and get off. Now you're thinking that this was my plan all along. You're thinking I'm actually not delusional and that this is all a ploy. You're thinking of how calculating I am. And now…" She laughed, "Now you're wondering _how_ I killed the men and _how_ left no fucking traces of evidence, and the answer to that, Dr. Huang, is magic."

She made him squirm inside, but he resisted showing it. He wanted to get out of the little room. He loosened his tie, feeling hot, and nervous. He couldn't let her win though.

Megan leaned forward, "I'd like to speak to ADA Novak."

"Would you like to call your own lawyer first? Are you planning to make a deal?"

"I don't want a lawyer, and already signed that little waiver bullshit. I'm guilty, and also crazy. I would like to speak to ADA Novak, and I would like everyone watching me through that fucking window to go away, or to turn off the speaker when I do. I need to speak to her in private."

He realized then that he had not introduced himself to her as Dr. Huang, "Megan…"

"Also," she continued, "I want you to walk around this damn place and find all of the cloves of garlic, which are making my breathing very difficult."

Raising an eyebrow, Huang started to say again, "Megan-"

"Do it now, or I will rip off your nutsack," she leaned back in the chair again, smiling innocently.

He nodded and exited. He looked back through the glass once he was safe on the outside. He glanced at everyone, "I'm sure you heard all that."

Everyone nodded slowly, and waited for him to say more.

He studied her for a while, until she looked directly at him, and said, "Dr. Huang. Stop dilly-dallying."

"She's a sociopath, and has extreme delusions of grandeur…magical thinking…" His eyes wandered, "Why is there a clove of garlic right there?"

No one responded.

"Why is there garlic everywhere?" Cragen asked, noticing.

Again, no one answered.

The Captain rubbed his temples, "Someone get up the garlic, and…why does she want to talk to Novak?"

Everyone shrugged and seemed confused. They had all forgotten that Casey Novak had invited her into headquarters days before. No one remembered her bringing lunch. As far as anyone knew, this was the first time she had ever been into this building. The way they all remembered it, she had walked into SVU and confessed out of nowhere. Elliot had been following up a lead from Fin's mysterious contacts about a girl named Megan, who was purportedly the hot girl suspect seen with some of the vics. No one remembered her from before.

"I'll go tell Casey what's going on," Olivia volunteered.

When she opened the door to the ADA's office, the redhead jumped from her chair, and said, "What's going on? What's taken you so long to come get me?"

"Calm down a second," Detective Benson put up her hands for protection in case the attorney ran at her. She didn't know why she was so distressed. "We've got the killer in custody. She waltzed in here and confessed to Elliot. She said her name was Megan, which is the name of the girl we were looking for, but now she's saying she's actually Circe…as in the mythical witch, but she asked for you. I don't know why."

"What?" The woman spat out.

"Yeah…I'm just as confused as you."

"No…" She waved her arms a bit, "I brought her in."

Olivia raised an eyebrow, "You brought her in? Are you a cop now, Case? You need some rest."

"No…she came in with me. I picked her up and brought her here."

The detective stared at her blankly.

Casey was more confused than Olivia, she was sure. Maybe Olivia hadn't seen her and thought Megan showed up on her own, but she had called her on the way to pick her up. "Why does she want to see me?"

"I don't know. She said she wants us to turn off the speaker. She apparently wants to speak with you privately for some reason…I don't know. We'll be right outside if she tries anything crazy, but you don't have to go in if-"

"No," she shook her head, "Just…I'll talk to her."

She power-walked ahead of Olivia and to the room where Megan was being held. She opened the door, and said, "Turn off the damn speaker if that's what she wants."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Megan said, "I'm sorry, Casey."

She stood in the corner by the door, "What the fuck is going on?"

"Casey, listen to me, this is going to sound ridiculous, but-"

"Ridiculous is you telling people you're a witch who is thousands of years old and that you killed six men!"

"Demigod, and I've killed more than six men, but that doesn't matter…" She waved her arms a bit, "Casey, I'm sorry. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. I never meant for any of this to happen, and-"

"Olivia doesn't remember that you came in with me! She thinks I'm crazy!"

"I'll fix it," she said sadly, "I was trying to get you out of this."

"Get me out of what? How…how the fuck can you do anything? What the hell?" She was becoming increasingly flustered, and walking in a circle at her side of the room.

"I can alter peoples' memories. No one remembers me coming here before today."

She whirled around, "Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Yes because it's the truth! I told you that you didn't want to know!"

"You're insane! And…and a psychopath…and…ugh!" She glared, "You tricked me!"

"I never tricked you, Casey. I never used my powers on you…"

"Powers? Powers?" The attorney's voice grew louder and louder.

"Yes…magic…if you want."

"I told you I don't fucking believe in magic," she said between her teeth, and slammed her fists on the table.

While this went on, the detectives, Huang, and Cragen watched on.

"Casey looks pissed…" Elliot said.

Then Fin said, "I think we might have to be pullin' our ADA off of our perp…"

"Why is she so mad? It's like this is personal." Munch commented.

"She hates when people take the law into their own hands," Olivia said, "We all know how she is."

"Damn, she's givin' that girl a talkin' to…" Fin added.

"I'd like to hear what's going on," Huang reached for the button, and pressed it.

"Stop talking," Megan's ears perked and she looked toward the glass, "They're listening when I told them not to. Don't say another word, Ms. Novak."

Casey opened the door, "Did someone-"

"Huang did it," Fin pointed the finger at the guilty member immediately.

"How did she know?" The psychiatrist asked.

"I don't fucking know, but it doesn't matter, I'm done talking to her anyway," with that Casey left. She slammed the door, and then left the building. She went back to her office, gathered her things and went home. The little black kitten greeted her. She ignored him. She tried to pretend he didn't exist. She didn't want him anymore. He became substantially less cute.

He mewed and continued to tag along at her feet as she walked through her apartment. He acted more like a puppy than a kitten. He continued to mew and beg for her attention, but she wouldn't look at him. She saw the bowl of the remaining orange cream on her table. Without warning she stormed across the room, picked it up and threw it against the wall. The bowl shattered, scaring Cole, who ran under a chair.

She took the opportunity to go into her room without the little beast following her, and she closed the door. She took a hot shower and pretended that everything was a dream. She didn't want to think about it or deal with it. Itching in the back of her mind was the trial…fucking trial…would there even be a trial? God…

The kitten mewed pathetically outside of her door, and she saw little black paws reaching under in the sliver of light. She turned on the television, turned it up and drowned him out. She thought about taking him outside and leaving him on the sidewalk. Someone would take him. She didn't want him anymore. She'd been given a kitten by a fucking serial killer.

What was worse is that she had sex with a fucking serial killer…

She couldn't do this trial. She couldn't. If it came to it, she couldn't.


	18. Seven and Maybe a Trial

Seven and Maybe a Trial

Megan was booked and put in lock-up for the night. She kept reminding everyone that she waived her right to council. She confessed. Huang thought she was completely insane and couldn't stand trial, also that she was incredibly dangerous. The longer she sat alone in the cell, the hungrier she got. She got her own cell, and the guard was told to keep an eye on her. Munch dropped a piece of garlic into the nearby trashcan at the guard's desk, which caused her to have quite an unpleasant coughing fit. She focused what she could to compel the guard to take out the trash, and then felt much better. Then she came up with a plan.

She waited until late and whispered to the portly man at the desk, "Hey, let me out for a second."

He looked up from his newspaper, and looked at her. Promptly, he got up and let her out while staring blankly. He sat back down.

She looked around. Some other men had been brought in and booked. Some whistled at her, others shouted slurred drunken nonsense. She walked by them all. She looked at them. She studied each of them, and saw into their heads.

"You slap your kids around?" She said to an average looking guy.

"How'd you know, bitch? How'd you get the guard to open your cell?"

She shrugged, "Watch your mouth. You look tasty."

He jeered.

She stopped at another cell of men. One was in for a mere DUI, the other for possession with intent to sell. There was an unfortunate homeless man, and then someone who mugged a woman. She thought this would be more of a buffet than it actually turned out to be, and then…then she found a nice fellow who had raped, robbed, and then killed a woman. He had been brought in though, for an armed robbery that evening. The woman he killed hadn't even been found yet.

"What're you looking at, cunt?" He asked.

She smiled, "You're nice."

She looked at the other men locked up with him. No one very interesting, and no one very bad was currently cohabitating with this fuck, except…except another one in for domestic violence. It was the third time his girlfriend had called and had him arrested. She always forgave him and took him back, even though he broke her arm and cracked her ribs the last time.

Looking back at the guard, she said, "Come unlock this one and let me in."

"What're you doing?" The particularly bad man asked her.

"I'm in here for killing men, ripping off their penises and such. I'm about to do that to you."

The guard sauntered over and unlocked the door for her. The man started to make a run for it, but he fell limp, and into a heap, none of the other men moved. They were frozen and looking at her. No one went through the door. No one budged.

She sprang on the man. She didn't waste time with pleasantries or chatter. She slashed his throat and let him bleed while she went in for her meal. He didn't cry out, but he sputtered and made lots of pathetic drowning noises, while she ate his abdomen. When she was finished, she stood up and backed toward the door. She watched as the other man she'd noted got down on the floor and covered himself in the blood. When she stepped back out and toward her own cell, the guard locked the door. He followed her back and by the time she reached her cell and entered, she looked as clean and fresh as ever – no one would know she'd just killed a man.

The guard locked her door and sat back down at his desk, where he went back to reading the newspaper.

She smiled and then the screaming started.

…

Casey marched into Judge Donelly's office early in the morning. The older woman looked up, "Ms. Novak?"

"I don't want the serial killer case." She said, "I won't convict that girl."

Donelly looked at her sternly, "And you want me to do what? You need to talk to the DA about this, not me."

"I don't know…" Casey collapsed into one of the big cushioned chairs across from her mentor.

"The arraignment hasn't even happened yet. What's going on? I've never seen you so bent up over something before." She looked at her watch and said, "I have an actual meeting in a few minutes, and I don't know what you want from me, Casey."

"I thought you could help…I can't drop the charges, McCoy won't let me. This is a damn media frenzy."

"Why would you drop the charges? What? You're not making any sense? Have you slept?"

She shook her head, "I can't handle this case."

"Alright, is this what you want me to say?" Donelly cleared her throat and began, "Put aside your personal feelings, Ms. Novak – whatever they may be. I know you empathize with someone who kills rapists and child molesters, and you have a soft spot for the mentally ill, but don't let this cloud your sense of justice and right and wrong. Those men deserved fair trials just as much as this woman does."

"It isn't just-"

"Casey."

Casey hung her head and left the judge's chambers. She didn't want to talk to the DA. She didn't much care for him. He was, in fact, a dick. Everyone thought she was crazy, and she was starting to feel crazy herself. She couldn't sleep. She didn't know what to do with the kitten, so she just ended up holding him and apologizing for being mean. It wasn't his fault, after all. She apologized to a cat! He didn't seem hurt or bothered much. He was a fucking cat.

She almost made it to her office when Elliot grabbed her and said, "There was another attack last night."

"What? She was in jail…" She didn't understand.

"We don't know what the fuck happened. The guard heard screaming and one of the guys locked up killed another guy-"

"What does a guy in a holding cell killing another guy have to do with fucking anything right now?" She snapped.

"This girl said she did it, even though she was in her cell alone the entire time. She's fucking insane. She thinks she has mind control powers or some shit like that. Huang is now convinced without a shadow of a doubt that she can't be prosecuted,"

"This is fucking ridiculous!"

"No kidding," he went on, "It didn't match the normal MO, except that the man's throat was slit and his stomach area was eaten. The man they found covered in his blood swore he didn't do it, and this girl, she said she made him do it."

"So it wasn't her? She was in her fucking cell the whole time. What about the other people? Did anyone else see anything?" She was extremely frustrated.

"They said the other man did it."

"So what's the issue? She didn't do it. She's insane. The end."

"Chill out and let me finish talking!" He raised his voice at her.

She closed her lips and looked at him hatefully.

"The guy who was killed was in for a fucking robbery, ok?" She nodded to let him know she was following him, and he went on, "She swore up and down that he had also raped, robbed, and murdered a woman a little over a day ago. She told us the location, and everything. She said she knew because she read his mind, and that was why she killed him, and then she apparently staged all of this will the other man looking like he did it because she also wanted that man to be put away."

"How was she cleaned up if she did it? This doesn't make sense, Elliot."

"She was telling the fucking truth about the dead woman. We probably wouldn't have found her for a few more days, but somehow this crazy bitch _knows_ things."

"I don't want to fucking hear this!" She screamed, and threw her arms in the air, almost hitting Elliot in the face with her briefcase.

He stepped back in time and shouted, "Casey! We have to go over the fucking evidence with you for the arraignment, and the trial!"

"Fuck it!" She screamed again and stormed into her office, "If there is a trial I won't be taking part in it!"

"What the hell?" Fin asked, witnessing the event.

…

Dean rapped his fingers on the table, and looked out the window. Sam paced and rubbed his tired eyes. Bobby had rocked back on the hind legs of a chair and thrown his feet up on the table. His hands rested across his stomach. No one spoke for a long time. Everyone was thinking completely different things.

Bobby turned on the television to be hit in the face with the murder occurring over the night, "Aw…" He groaned dejectedly. "What the hell?"

Dean looked up and Sam stopped pacing.

Putting all four legs of his chair on the ground, Bobby said, "She's just putting on a show now. I don't get it."

"She's crazy and needs to be stopped," Dean said with no conviction now.

"If we're going to kill her, we need to do it from as far away as possible. No talking to her, no letting her know we're watching," said Sam.

"We need to snipe her." Bobby looked at Dean, "Do you have a sniper rifle or a scope we can throw onto another rifle?"

He nodded.

"We need to post up outside of the courthouse and get her then."

Sam sighed and said, "It's going to be swarming with camera crews and shit. It'll be impossible to make the shot."

"I can do it," Dean stood up and stretched, "Let's get ready for this shit. Let's plan."

"You want to plan?" Sam asked.

"Yes. This bitch is going to require a plan."

"I think you don't really want to shoot her," Sam said.

"You shut the hell up, Sammy," he pointed and glowered.

…

As Sam predicted the media swarmed. Reporters, cameras, men, women, people with picket signs, and it was just the damn arraignment. Casey was prosecuting, first chair, senior ADA, with her amazing seventy-one percent success rate. McCoy lectured her on her duties to the public, and expressed the importance of the case. Megan was representing herself, in a completely idiotic and ridiculous move. People chanted for the death penalty and for an acquittal. Casey was booed as she attempted to enter and Fin and Elliot escorted her in. The halls were crowded and noisy.

The arraignment itself was a blur, a ruinous blur that no one saw coming. Megan entered a plea of not guilty by reason of mental illness or defect, _although_ she had confessed repeatedly to the crimes. Casey asserted that she should be held without bail. The judge had to call for order in the courtroom several times, slamming his gavel. In light of the incident taking place in the jail, Megan then moved to straight up dismiss the case. The whole thing was ridiculous. It was a circus.

To many gasps and to the horror of the SVU detectives, the case was dismissed, Megan was freed at that moment. No probation. No confinement in a mental health facility. Nothing. Nothing even made sense. Nothing that was said made sense. Casey walked from the courtroom and cameras began flashing. Microphones were stuck in her face, and she pushed them all away without a word. It all seemed like a dream…some fucked up and horrible bad dream.

The entire surreal event replayed over and over in her mind. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her world spiraled out of control, and just kept going down and down, and into some dark abyss. DA McCoy kept calling and she kept ignoring it.

The judge had said, "Ms. Novak, there is no case."

She stood there.

The judge repeated, "Ms. Novak, there is no case. It is impossible for this girl to have committed these crimes. There is no evidence."

"But she confessed…" She had protested weakly.

"She was coerced."

Casey looked at Megan.

Megan looked back at her. She didn't smile. Instead she seemed terribly disappointed. Anyone else would had somehow just gotten away with six…or seven…or however many murders…just like that…in the blink of an eye…would have been ecstatic.

"The prosecution has no substantiated evidence. None of this will hold up in court. All you have is a delusional confession from someone who obviously isn't even fit to stand trial." The man patronized her.

The words just echoed, and didn't make sense. They didn't seem like they were in English.

She had a confession. Megan confessed to two detectives. She was mirandized and confessed again. Then somehow…something happened…she did something…she somehow set this up…she caused it. She got herself off. Somehow this was some sort of set up. She couldn't possibly actually have mind control powers – it was bullshit! It was all a bunch of bullshit! It couldn't be real. It wasn't real. Magic wasn't real.

Or Casey was crazy. No one remembered Megan from before. Olivia didn't remember trying to lift prints from her stapler, and then Casey couldn't find the folder. What good would it have done anyway? There were no prints on it other than her own. It would have just made her look more like she was having a psychotic break.

Maybe she was…

Elliot and Fin escorted her back to SVU headquarters. They tried to talk to her, but she didn't hear anything they said. She kept trying to rationalize everything in her head, but it wasn't happening. The reporters continued to flock, and the detectives did their best to keep them back. Some people were upset, some people were angry; some people empathized, while others protested something or another.

There was no case. There was only an insane girl…or an insane ADA.

Elliot got her into his car. More reporters waited back at the station, but were held at bay by police officers.

There was no case…

There was no case…

She tried to go to trial when there was no case. Everyone thought she was losing her mind. No one seemed to understand why she even tried to go to trial at all. McCoy kept calling and calling. Her job was fucked. Casey Novak had lost her fucking mind.


	19. The Last Temptation of Casey Novak

The Last Temptation of Casey Novak

Casey sulked in her office with all of the blinds closed. She didn't want to be bothered. She ignored her cell and her office phone. She just sat and she stared for a while, wondering what happened to her life. Never before in her career had anything gone so wrong, especially never a case with national attention. She was sure the police were doing everything they could to keep the press at bay outside of headquarters. She hoped no one got shot or tazered. She almost wanted to cry. She put her head down on her desk and took several deep breaths, trying to fight the unnecessary explosion of emotion from bubbling out.

She heard her door open slowly and quietly. She couldn't bring herself to look up. She assumed it was Olivia or some other detective just as baffled by the trial as she was, or…of course…coming in to ask her at what point she went fucking crazy.

A voice broke the silence. An all too familiar voice, but one she didn't want to hear, "Hey, you…"

She looked up and her brow furrowed, "What in the hell are you doing in my office?"

The slender brunette made a face and shrugged, "I wanted to see if you were ok…"

Casey glared, "No, I'm not fucking ok! Everyone thinks I'm fucking nuts, you bitch! Why do you give a shit? This is _your_ fault! Why would you confess to killing all of those people, and then…and then…"

Megan kept her distance. She seemed deeply saddened. "I don't blame you for hating me."

"Get out. How did you even get in here? How the fuck did you get past everyone?"

"Through the door." She stood her ground, "And I walked."

Casey sighed and then asked, "Did you really kill those men?"

"Yes."

"And you killed that man when you were in lock up?"

She nodded slowly.

"How?" Casey demanded.

"You don't believe me, but I swear I'm telling you the truth-"

Casey interrupted, "Magic. And you put fucking ideas in peoples' heads and you make people forget things, and you're ruining my life, you monster. Why?"

"Yes, magic…more of less. I never meant to hurt you, and I can fix it."

The attorney shook her head and tugged at her hair, "I'm losing my mind."

"You're not."

"What _are_ you?" Casey looked her in the eyes.

"A monster. You said so yourself."

Casey remained baffled and just sat in her chair, "You _eat_ people. You rip off their penises and put them in their throats. You _fucked_ with my head. I don't even know what's happening, and nothing makes sense anymore."

"I only eat men…"

"You _confessed_. You've _confessed_ right now." She shook her head, "How are you not guilty? What did you do to the judge?"

She shrugged.

"None of this makes sense. None of it. I know you were here. You helped me organize my papers. You _touched_ my stapler. You gave me a kitten. You met _everyone_."

"There are lots of things in the world that don't make sense." She took a step forward, just one.

"Get out of my office before I have you forcefully removed. Please."

"I'm sorry, Casey." She took another step forward, and she bit her bottom lip.

"Do not call me Casey. I'm ADA Novak, and you are a psycho-killer who is getting away with murder."

"I'm not…" She said with another step.

"Not what? A psychokiller? I think you are. Like I said, you eat men."

"Only shitty men. You do what you need to do to survive too." She took another step and stood directly across from Casey at her desk.

Casey didn't call for anyone. She spoke with normal tones now. Her voice was apathetic. She had given up. "You're still getting away with murder."

She swallowed and started to move around the dark mahogany desk, "Yes. I won't kill again unless I have to. I'm full."

Casey stared at the exotic woman in front of her, resigned, "It took seven men to fill you up?"

She nodded and took another step closer to the ADA, "Now I'm at full power."

The strawberry blonde rolled her chair back and swiveled it to face the woman she just tried and failed to put away. She backed up with a bit of apprehension, realizing how close she had gotten.

"I won't hurt you, Casey…" She cleared her throat, "I mean, ADA Novak."

She shook her head, "Casey…just Casey, it doesn't matter now. My career is fucked. My job is fucked. My boss has been calling…everyone has been calling."

The girl approached, and reached out with a shaking hand to move Casey's hair behind her ear. She then eased her face upward to look at her. She cocked her head to the side and said, "Smile, Casey."

She shook her head and pulled away just slightly, "There's nothing to smile about. My life is fucking over."

The girl pursed her lips and then knelt down to Casey's level, "No, it isn't. I'll make sure it isn't. Everyone will forget this happened. I can make it all go away."

"How?" She asked with disbelief.

"I'll make sure of it, I promise."

Casey scoffed, "Like your word means anything."

She sighed, but said nothing more. She slipped each of her hands into Casey's hair, moving it from her face. Slowly, she inched her face toward the stoic attorney's. Their lips touched lightly, and Casey embraced her for a split second before flailing and backing away in her chair.

"What are you doing?" She did shout. She spoke calmly.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Casey…" The sincerity of her words struck Casey deeply, but she didn't show it.

"Don't use your mind-control bullshit on me now…get out of my fucking head."

"I'm not…I never did, not with you. I told you."

Casey stood abruptly, causing her chair to roll back several feet toward the wall. She paced toward the ratty old couch at the back of her office that she'd inherited. She continued at her own hair and clinched her hands into fists. The girl only watched. Casey glanced at her and then looked away. She looked back, thinking she would be gone, but she wasn't.

"If you want me to go then tell me to go…one more time. I can make you forget everything if you want me to."

The woman stopped walking and stood. She looked at the floor. She said nothing.

The girl moved in closer, placing her hands delicately on Casey's waist. She eased her back toward the couch and sat her down. She sat closely next to her, and again guided their faces together. Casey's hands wandered to the girl's hips and she grabbed her shirt. Their tongues flicked in and out tangling between the girl's tender nibbles on her bottom lip.

Grasping the collar of Casey's jacket, the girl motioned for her to take it off. Casey let her arms go limp, but didn't break their kiss. She let her pressed and laundered jacket fall into a heap without a second thought. Next the girl began to slowly unfasten every button of the attorney's shirt, beginning at the top. Once free of the shirt, the girl's hands touched Casey's bare, warm skin.

"Mmm…" Casey pulled away, "The door…" She gasped, and started to get up.

The brunette grabbed her wrists and held her long enough for her to hear the familiar click of the lock falling into place.

Casey looked at the door and then back at her with a distinct frown.

"Smile, Casey," she said to her once more.

"Part of me is utterly terrified of you."

Lacing their fingers together and holding her close, she said, "I'll never hurt you. I'll fix everything…"

"How?" She needed to know. She always needed to know everything. It was her nature.

The girl stared into her green eyes, and moved back in for another kiss. Casey said no more. Their arms and legs tangled. Fingers caressed silky hair, and nails scratched backs without drawing blood. Sweat beaded on foreheads, and consuming kisses muffled moans of ecstasy.

Casey rested her head on this girl's chest and heard her heart beating rapidly. She felt her breaths as one of her hands massaged her head with all of the tenderness in the world. She pushed from her mind that the same hands mutilated nine men and that the same mouth that was so careful with her flesh, had eaten men. She felt the girl, forcing her face up to look at her.

"Smile, Casey."

She smiled, and laid her head back down, forgetting the trial, forgetting that she was in her office, forgetting that reporters were waiting for her outside. She felt safe, protected.

"I wish you could come with me…" Megan said solemnly.

"Where are you going?"

She kept playing with Casey's hair, "I have to go away from here. I'm ruining everything."

"My job is fucked…"

"I'll fix it, Casey. It'll be like none of this ever happened."

"But I'll know it did."

"I can make you forget me…"

Casey looked up at her, "I don't want you to do that."

A firm series of knocks interrupted their conversation.

"Casey! Are you alright in there?" Sam shouted. It was followed by a more frantic series of knocks and jiggling of the knob, "Casey!"

"What the hell?" She got up and tried to pull herself together. "I'm calling the cops! I know who you are!" She wondered how the wanted men got inside. She fumbled around for her phone. Where was everyone? Where were Olivia and Elliot? And Fin and Munch?

"Stop, Casey…" Megan whispered, "They're after me, not you."

"Why?"

"I'm a monster, remember? They _kill_ monsters."

"Casey get away from the door!" Sam commanded.

In the next second, Dean kicked it in.

_**A/N: **I didn't realize this chapter was so short!_


	20. Conclusion

_**A/N (02/28/11):** I was apparently drunk when I wrote this. I reread it and found it wrought with stupid errors. I fixed them. Almost a year later. Oops._

Conclusion

"Sorry for the confusion, Casey. My name is Dean and this is Sam," the older Winchester determinedly wielded his shotgun.

Casey stood between him and Megan. She pleaded, "Dean, please, don't shoot me."

"I'm not going to shoot you if you'd just move. I need to shoot her." He motioned for her to move to the side.

"Told you…" Megan said in her ear.

Sergeant Munch stood in the doorway his back to Bobby, "Do as he says, Casey."

"What the fuck, John?" She yelled.

"She's a witch!" Munch said to her.

"Demigod, please," she corrected. "I can fucking crush all of you, but I won't." She gasped and coughed suddenly, "Garlic? Seriously?"

Fin shouted from somewhere beyond the doorway, "Everyone get on the fucking ground! Drop your gun, Elliot!"

This was turning into some sort of fucking ridiculous hostage situation. Casey put her hands in the air, sure that she would be shot by the fake FBI agents. She tried to reason with them, "She…she can fix this, just everyone please calm down. John, put your gun down. Don't do this."

Munch asked, "What are _you_ doing, Casey? You're turning into a defense attorney."

"Just don't…just don't kill her. She won't hurt anyone else."

"She will, in a few years, she'll be hungry again." Dean told her.

"He's right…" Megan whispered in the lawyer's ear, "Move, please. Don't be stupid."

Sam said, "Don't hide behind her, Circe."

The girl's ears perked at her name and she looked up, past Casey. "I don't like being called that anymore."

"Circe…" Casey thought aloud. How could this shit be true? Did she really believe that Megan had some sort of magical powers? Did she? How could she? Maybe this was some sort of awful, bad dream still. Maybe she'd wake up and it would all be over.

"Yeah," Dean still held his shotgun up, "At first we thought she was a succubus, maybe even a siren of some sort." He spoke to Megan, "But we figured you out, you crazy old bitch."

"You have had so many chances to kill me, Dean, and you haven't. You can't do it." She hissed.

"I'm tired of the fucking games you keep playing, and I'll shoot you now, as soon as you get from behind the lawyer."

"I haven't been playing any games," she grabbed the back of Casey's shirt and forced her aside. "Fucking shoot me." She put her arms out, "Shoot me, Dean."

Casey struggled with her, but Megan was a lot stronger, and held her back, "Megan, please stop!"

"Sam, get her out of the way!" Dean told his brother.

Megan grabbed the collar of Casey's shirt, and before shoving her forcefully toward Sam, she said, "Casey, I'll fix everything, I promise."

"I just want it all to be a dream," she said frantically.

Megan nodded.

Sam put his arms around the tall redhead and she kicked and screamed. He held her arms down and pulled her well out of the way. He said, "Shoot her now, Dean!"

"She's a person!" Casey screamed as Sam held her back. He turned her away from the scene.

"She's a witch, who needs to be fucking burned!" Dean yelled.

"Demigod…" She rolled her eyes, and corrected.

"Shoot her, Dean!" Bobby told him, "Hurry up! Fin can't keep back the fucking SWAT team if they show up!"

"Shoot me and you'll never get out of here alive, and Mr. Munch's and Mr. Tutuola's careers and _lives_ will be ruined."

"We'll get out and they'll come with us," Dean argued.

Bobby interjected, "That'll be a car full."

"Mr. Munch, come on…what're you doing?" She purred at him.

He glanced at her, "Some things are bigger than my career and my life, what these boys are doing is one of them."

"Yes, I believe in what they're doing too, which is why I haven't killed them, but killing _me_ is stupid. I'm doing the same thing, they're doing." She didn't look quite as pale as usual when exposed to garlic. She did cough weakly.

"Shut her up!" Bobby commanded.

"Shut up!" Dean aimed his gun at her.

"Shut me up, Dean! Do it!" She taunted him. Nothing happened. He shifted around on his feet and she continued, "You can't, so all of you calm the fuck down and give me a second to fix all of this! I can give your career back, Mr. Munch. I can erase this little mar. I can make it so that you don't even remember."

"You can't do anything, we've all got garlic on us, and you're cornered," said Dean.

She smirked, "You have _no idea_ what you're doing. You have no idea the extent of my power. Garlic…I just fucking hate it. It doesn't make you immune to my power, it just fucks with my concentration because I _hate_ it."

"Shut up!" Bobby commanded and glanced over his shoulder.

"Please, stop this!" Casey screamed again.

Megan didn't stop talking. She took a deep breath that seemed a bit labored, before beginning again, "Bobby, why don't you shoot me? You don't want to. I'm the one that got away, and you think that maybe I deserved to."

"Dammit, woman!" Dean got her attention back on him.

She refocused back on Dean with a sigh, "I'm only eating the fucking scum, and you know it! That's why you keep hesitating, and it's why you're hesitating now. I'm a nice girl, who happens to need to eat to live – just like you! I only eat people that the world can do without!"

"You're a murderer."

"So are you." She sneered, "Do you think I _asked_ for this? Do you think I asked for this miserable fucking existence? I move from place to place, making zero connections, and every so often I kill some fucking bastard. Just like you."

"Shut up."

"Shoot me, Dean. Put me out of my fucking misery. Everyone I've ever given a shit about has gotten old and _died_, while I just keep living, and the only thing I can do is fucking kill shitty men to feel like my life is meaningful." She extended her arms in a crucifix position and she took a step closer to him, "Shoot me because you can't shoot yourself and I remind you so much of your fucking self."

Dean let out some sort of enraged battle cry and pulled the trigger.

The noise rang out in the small room. Casey collapsed into Sam's arms, and began to sob uncontrollably. Sam cradled her, and rocked her as she cried. Only silence followed. A pin drop could have been heard. Slowly, Sam looked around being careful not to let Casey see, and he asked his brother, "Where'd she go?"

"Shots fired! Shots fired!" Olivia screamed somewhere outside of Casey's office.

"Get on the ground, Liv!" Fin yelled in response.

Dean shook his head in disbelief and dropped his gun. It fell to the floor with a thump, "I don't know. She disappeared before I actually shot her. She just fucking disappeared…" His voice was quiet, and he was confused. He shook his head, "She had me thinking…"

Casey looked up, and searched for the girl, but she was nowhere to be found. She got away from Sam and looked around the room. No trace of her existed, not even a hair…just like at the crime scenes. She, literally, disappeared…as if by magic.

Dean reached back down for his gun, "We'll get her-"

"Please, just leave her alone," Casey interrupted.

Sam interjected, "Maybe we should…just leave her alone…for now. She'll surface again when she's hungry."

"No, Sam! Don't forget that she choked dudes with their own dicks!"

"Maybe…we should just get out of here now…" Bobby suggested.

"I'm with Bobby," Munch seconded.

Bobby sighed then and said softly, "Maybe we should just let her go for now…go after things that are hurting normal people."

Dean just shrugged.

"We gotta fucking go!" Fin shouted. He came into the doorway, but faced the room beyond.

There was a rumble from the bowels of the building. It started as a low growl and then grew to a roar. Everyone braced themselves with the tremor. The world around everyone began to swirl out of control. There were screams and shouts, and the sounds of papers and such being sucked around in a freakish, supernatural whirlwind.

"What the fuck is happening?" Sam cried out.

Dean responded, "Where are you, Sam?"

"Dean!"

The lights were bright, blinding. No one could see, and no one could hear, and then as suddenly as it began, it all stopped. Everything was quiet aside from the normal sounds of the squad room. Everything was in place.

Casey got up from her desk and walked over to shake Sam's hand, then Dean's, and then Bobby's. They all looked at her confusedly, and she said, "Thanks for all your help, gentlemen. I look forward to working with you again."

"You're…welcome…" Dean stammered. He stood there holding onto his shotgun again, but Casey didn't seem to notice it.

They all looked at one another and then looked out into the bustling SVU headquarters. Munch and Fin sat at their desks, and Elliot walked across the room with two cups of coffee, one for him and one for Detective Benson.

The three started out, when Casey grabbed Bobby's arm. She smiled at him, "Thanks for rescuing that kitten. I'll take good care of him."

They all stopped and looked at one another again, before heading out of her office. She closed the door behind them, and began collecting files to go into court. She saw her jacket lying in a heap on the floor by her couch, and wondered how it had fallen there. She picked it up, shook out the wrinkles and put it back on.

"What the hell…" Bobby said and walked sort of deliriously out into the open. The board where all of the information about the case had been was blank and had been rolled over into a corner by Cragen's office. Cragen was on the phone with his door open.

"I guess you fellas'll be leaving now," Elliot said to them. He patted Dean on the back heavy handedly, "Thanks, buddy. I'll be in touch. You owe me a drink, and I'm holding you to it."

Dean put his arm around the man's shoulder and gave him a brief manly embrace. He played along, "You got it, El."

Huang approached and said, "It was great to see you guys again, perhaps I'll see you the next time I'm in DC."

"Perhaps…" Sam muttered, and blinked his eyes in disbelief at the scene around them.

They all started to make their way out. It seemed like the most intelligent thing to do, since none of them had any idea what was going on.

"I hate to admit it, but I'll sorta miss you three jackasses." Fin said as they passed.

Munch cleared his throat, "Yeah. Me too. I still don't think you're FBI though."

Bobby chuckled and said quietly, "We're actually CIA."

Munch laughed, "And our serial killer was actually an alien."

When they left Munch stretched a bit and he felt something inside the internal pocket of his jacket. He reached in and pulled out a business card of sorts, displaying the name of Dean Winchester. He turned it over, investigating the back. He stared at it for a while.

"What you got there?" His partner asked, leaning over to look.

The older Sergeant made a face, and tucked the card back in his pocket, "Nothing. I had the weirdest dream last night though…"

"Yeah, I dreamed that I held up this damn place at gunpoint for some reason."

"We need a vacation, I think."

"Agreed!" Elliot shouted across the room.

"Drinks at Pete's tonight?" Olivia asked.

Everyone agreed. Casey marched out of her office, and Detective Benson presented her with the same question.

"No…" she started to say, and then she changed her mind, "Yeah, I'll be there. I need a break. I've been working myself to death lately."

Olivia nodded, and then the lawyer headed out.

Sam, Dean, and Bobby went out to the Impala, and no one noticed that they were all holding onto some heavy artillery. No one seemed to care as they loaded it into the trunk. The people walking by just kept walking without a second glance or even so much as a first look. Dean got in the driver's seat and Sam climbed in the passenger's seat, then Bobby sat in the middle of the back and leaned forward sticking his head between the boys'.

"What…the…hell?" Sam shook his head and stared out of the front of the car.

Dean rubbed his eyes, "You took the words right out of my mouth, Sammy…"

"It's like none of that happened. It's like none of the past week happened." Bobby said.

"Yeah…something happened that we're being thanked for, but damn if I know what…" Dean put his hands on the steering wheel at ten and two and continued to just sit there.

"I think we should get…" Bobby started, and his voice trailed off. His eyes followed Casey.

"Look," Sam nodded out of the window as ADA Novak left SVU carrying her briefcase and staring at her BlackBerry.

Bobby blinked his eyes a few times, and said, "We're a damn bunch of morons, boys…"

Neither of the Winchester brothers even asked why.

The older man pulled off his hat and ruffled his hair beneath it before putting it back on, "Look at that…"

They all looked at the tall brunette, who loitered outside of the station. Casey didn't notice her at all as she passed by, busy reading emails on her phone. The girl followed her at a distance and then disappeared.

Dean started the car and pulled out to follow Casey slowly up the street. They parked in front of the courthouse.

The tall girl with long brunette hair appeared and stepped out directly in front of the rushed lawyer. They collided and Casey dropped her briefcase, but managed to hold onto her phone this time. Picking it up and handing it back after dusting it off, the girl said politely, "Sorry, Casey."

For a split second, Casey felt like she knew the girl, but shrugged it off. She smiled, and said, "It's ok. I wasn't paying attention."

The girl smiled in return and watched as ADA Novak hurried up the steps into the courthouse. She sighed, "Goodbye, Casey."

When Casey reached the top of the steps, she realized the girl had known her name. She paused and turned back, but she was gone. There was no sign of her at all. She rubbed her neck, feeling tired and sore then took a deep breath and went in to win another case.

"Son of a bitch…" Bobby sat back and let out a huge sigh.

The Winchesters pulled away in their Impala. Sam sat looking pensively at the sights of the city, and Dean said, "I'm still putting a bullet in that bitch's head if I ever see her again."

"I don't think we will…" Sam said.

Dean jeered, and then said, "I'm hungry."

"Next hotel we stop at, I'm getting a bed. One of you is gonna sleep on the floor or you'll have to share a bed."

The End

_**A/N: **__I'm such a hack, and this was a horrible cop-out ending! I hope you all enjoyed it. Thanks for reading, and I probably won't post anything again for a while...unless...unless...I dunno._


End file.
